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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24657211">mirror mask</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrofeather/pseuds/chrofeather'>chrofeather</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alien/Human Relationships, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fantastic Racism, First time with an alien, M/M, Mild Painplay, Mirror Universe (Star Trek), Moral Ambiguity, No Rape/Noncon, Not as dark as it sounds I swear, Slavery, Trauma, Violence, Xenobiology, dark themes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:06:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>32,310</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24657211</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrofeather/pseuds/chrofeather</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A spacetime anomaly sends Julian into the mirror universe, inadvertently trading places with his counterpart there. </p><p>A war of a different kind is brewing there, and Julian is going to have to pick a side. But everything (and everyone) is different in the mirror universe, and it’s not as easy as he once believed to make the right choice. </p><p>[Takes place after “Through the Looking Glass” but before “Shattered Mirror”]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Julian Bashir/Dukat, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>112</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Switch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, I recently binged all seven seasons of DS9, and... let's just say I'm still not over it, okay? Even though I'm twenty years late to that party lol. I'm sure it will be very obvious who my favorite characters are once you start reading.</p><p>This is my first Star Trek fanfic in a long time, and while this may be an unpopular opinion, I LOVE the idea of the mirrorverse and I wanted to do something with that. It presents a beautiful contrast to the canon universe, imo, and it's a lovely opportunity to explore a "what could have been" scenario, had things been a little different for the characters we know and love. </p><p>Additionally, I'm so glad to see this fandom isn't dead!! </p><p>I have this fic all written and parceled out, but I'll be editing each chapter as I go, which will take me probably 4-5 days for each. I'd say a week at most. And I would absolutely LOVE to hear your comments, thoughts, and/or Trek ramblings in the comments!! Let me know what you think!</p><p>Live long and prosper, y'all. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It happened when Julian was doing paperwork, of all things.</p><p> </p><p>It was well into lunchtime, but he’d deigned to stay behind himself to finish filing reports for the morning. He’d sent the nurses on their way nearly forty minutes ago, assuring them he would take care of things while they were on lunch break. The morning crowd in the infirmary had been nothing out of the ordinary—a few minor plasma burns thanks to an accident in engineering, three cases of Bajoran flu, a couple walk-ins for various aches and pains, and a routine checkup for little Molly O’Brien. The reports didn’t take long, usually, but it was easy to get behind, and it was always a pain to catch up on them later.</p><p> </p><p>The infirmary was quiet except for Julian’s little comments to himself as he typed up reports, occasionally glancing down at the stack of PADDs that the nurses did their charting on. Miles had come by earlier, ostensibly to ask about Molly’s checkup, but Keiko had left with her twenty minutes prior, and Julian hadn’t even started the report. Miles had also mentioned something about a spacetime anomaly that had been detected near the station, appearing and disappearing at random.</p><p> </p><p>Julian hadn’t paid much attention, in all honesty. Spacetime anomalies weren’t his field of expertise, so he’d merely nodded without taking his eyes off his reports and told Miles he would be vigilant.</p><p> </p><p>Whatever Miles had told him, Julian hadn’t expected it to be like… this.</p><p> </p><p>It began with a low sort of hum that seemed to vibrate the recycled air of the station, a sound that was more like a feeling that Julian could detect in his very bones. When he looked up, there was a strange ripple in the air, a distortion that was like looking at something underwater. The ripple seemed to spread outwards from a single point, twisting and tearing at reality until it made Julian’s eyes hurt to look at it. He meant to tap his combadge, to tell someone about this, but the hum had intensified and Julian realized he couldn’t even hear himself speak.</p><p> </p><p>The distortion got more intense as the humming got stronger, and when the gash tore in the fabric of spacetime, rending open reality itself, it was like looking into the sun, and he could see nothing beyond it. Brilliant white light poured from the gash, rippling and writhing like something alive.</p><p> </p><p>Julian wasn’t frightened, strangely enough. The humming was so strong it was starting to hurt his ears, and the lights in the room started to bend and refract in strange ways. The light that poured from the anomaly—if it was indeed light—was so bright it burned white like magnesium, and Julian squinted and shielded his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>That was when he saw it. There was… something beyond the opening, a distant ripple like a shadow over water. At first Julian thought it was a trick of his eyes, but then he saw it again, closer. There was a blurry silhouette beyond the mouth of the anomaly, vague and undefined, but definitely there. The gash that spilled white light gave another dizzying shudder, and though there was nothing physical, the light seemed to bend and ripple around the shape in real space.</p><p> </p><p>Julian stared, transfixed, and before he knew what he was doing, he stood. The room was flooded with light, the low hum in his ears now more like a roar, and he realized with his heart pounding in his chest that something was reaching out to him.</p><p> </p><p>It was like the thing was made of water, rippling and transparent and yet invisible but for its motion. Julian felt like he couldn’t breathe.</p><p> </p><p>Transfixed, he reached out in what felt like slow motion. Static electricity made the hair on his arm stand on end, and the sensation of making contact with it—whatever it was—set his whole arm alight with tingling numbness.</p><p> </p><p>It grasped his hand, and Julian felt the whole world give a sickening lurch before he was engulfed in white light.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Julian awoke feeling dizzy and nauseous. He didn’t really want to open his eyes, but his back was protesting his current position. Which, now that he was able to force his eyes open a crack, he realized was… curled up on the floor. The very hard, metal floor.</p><p> </p><p>Julian blinked. This was distinctly <em>not</em>the carpeted floor of his office in the infirmary. It was dim and somewhat chilly, and he realized his back was up against a storage crate of some sort. Groaning softly, Julian managed to pull himself into a sitting position, grimacing when a wave of dizziness washed over him, and he steadied himself against the crate, suddenly grateful for its cool, solid presence.</p><p> </p><p>His stomach didn’t much care for the change in position, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut and focus on taking slow breaths for a minute to tamp down the nausea. How many drinks had he had at Quark’s last night? Julian hadn’t had a hangover like this since his Academy days. His mouth felt dry, and his head ached.</p><p> </p><p>Finally able to open his eyes and look around without the urge to vomit, Julian tried to take stock of the situation. He was in… a cargo bay? Maybe a storage area? Stars, how had he gotten here?</p><p> </p><p>Julian sighed. He supposed it was time to face down his inevitable embarrassment. Jadzia would never let him live it down, he was sure of it. And Miles would probably continue to bring up every time they went for drinks henceforth. Well, first he needed to ascertain the damage.</p><p> </p><p>He tapped his combadge. “Bashir to O’Brien,” he said reluctantly, leaning back against the crate.</p><p> </p><p>Silence. Julian frowned. “Bashir to O’Brien,” he tried again.</p><p> </p><p>Still nothing. Julian rolled his eyes. Miles was probably still sleeping it off.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright. Bashir to Dax.”</p><p> </p><p>Again, silence. Dax, too? Really? Julian was starting to get annoyed.</p><p> </p><p>“Bashir to Ops,” he said with an edge of impatience.</p><p> </p><p>When no one responded, Julian took off his combadge and glared at it. “What is wrong with you?” he complained aloud, as though it would answer him.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s what I’d like to know, too,” said an acerbic voice from the doorway, and Julian nearly jumped out of his skin, having thought he was alone.</p><p> </p><p>He startled, eyes wide as he stared incredulously at his previously unnoticed companion. “Ziyal?” he breathed, disbelieving.</p><p> </p><p>It was Ziyal; that he could be certain of. There were no other Bajoran-Cardassian hybrids on the station. But she was… different. Her clothes were different, certainly—a utilitarian-looking outfit made up of mismatched but similarly dark-colored pieces, as though she’d picked them up all from different places. Her hair was tied back in a long braid that was twisted up at the base of her neck, and she wore a Klingon disruptor pistol at her hip.</p><p> </p><p>But most startling was… well, Ziyal herself. The way she held herself was different, as was the sharp look in her eyes and the downturn of her mouth. She was standing in the doorway with her arms crossed, her shoulders back. It made her look broader, made her neck ridges more pronounced, and those ridges were purposefully flared in the manner Julian had come to associate with irritation or aggression in Cardassians. The gentle, somewhat shy girl that Julian had known was not here. This Ziyal was a fighter. If not by the phaser and her hard-eyed look, then Julian could tell by the faded scars on her cheeks and neck.</p><p> </p><p>Ziyal rolled her dark blue eyes. “Congratulations on having at least half a brain, <em>Captain</em>Bashir,” she said sarcastically. “It’s a wonder you can keep it with all the fighting and fucking you do. But you were supposed to be at Lower Pylon 3 an hour ago to help unload cargo, you asshole.”</p><p> </p><p>“I… what?” Julian managed, letting out a breathless laugh. He stared up at her from his spot on the floor, too surprised to even move. This had to be some kind of a joke. “Ziyal, I… I don’t understand.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t play dumb with me, Bashir,” Ziyal snapped, and she stepped closer to grab his arm and haul him none too gently to his feet. She paused a moment, looking him up and down critically. “You were skipping cargo duty to… what? Get a haircut and some new clothes?” She gave an experimental sniff, then scoffed. “At least you sprung for a bath, too.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian’s heart had started to pound. “Ziyal, I—” He’d intended to protest, but then realized he didn’t know what to say. Something was very wrong here.</p><p> </p><p>“Save it. I’m not in the mood for your excuses,” Ziyal said sharply, pulling him towards the door. “We’ve all got to pitch in if we’re going to have a <em>chance</em>of defeating the Alliance. And that means cargo duty, too.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian’s knees actually went weak for a moment, and he stumbled. “The—the <em>Alliance?”</em>He had heard that term mentioned only in a place he now considered to be a nightmare.</p><p> </p><p>Ziyal frowned, her wrinkled Bajoran nose making it look like she was far more concerned than she probably was. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and lost the other half of your brain, too.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian felt faint. “Ziyal,” he managed, suddenly glad she was holding his arm. “I—I need you to tell me where we are.” He was desperately hoping it wasn’t true, that this was all some sort of prank.</p><p> </p><p>Ziyal seemed to know then that something was very wrong. “Alright, let’s go,” she said after a moment, again marching him toward the exit of the cargo bay. It <em>looked</em>like Deep Space Nine, but Julian knew better.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait! Where are we going?” Julian said too quickly, trying to maintain his composure, but if this was truly the other universe’s Terok Nor… He didn’t know what he would do.</p><p> </p><p>Ziyal’s grip on his upper arm was unyielding. Even a Cardassian hybrid’s strength was not to be trifled with—the average Cardassian was three times stronger than a human. It had to do with the placement of muscle groups in their bodies, Julian remembered, uselessly.</p><p> </p><p>“To see my father,” was all she said.</p><p> </p><p>Then, Julian really did faint.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>When he came to, his internal clock told him that not much time had passed. That, and he was uncomfortably chilly. He sat up on the admittedly uncomfortable couch, blinking, and felt a rush of relief upon seeing Miles O’Brien sitting across from him on a battered, angular armchair. He was tinkering with some device in his hands and a tool Julian had no hope of naming.</p><p> </p><p>“Miles!” Julian said with a broad smile, relieved. Maybe it had all been just a bad dream after all. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you.”</p><p> </p><p>O’Brien looked at him with vague surprise, eyebrows going up. There was a moment of silence, and he paused in his work. ““…I didn’t believe Ziyal at first when she said you were a headcase now,” he said at last. “I see what she meant. Most people around here call me Smiley.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian’s heart sank like a stone, his mood deflated in an instant. “So it’s true, then,” he said after a moment, swallowing and finding his throat dry. “This is… the other universe.”</p><p> </p><p>O’Brien gave a little shrug. “It’s the only one I’ve ever known.”</p><p> </p><p>O’Brien set down his tools and the gadget he was working on, in favor of picking up a phaser. Julian was surprised only for a moment, until O’Brien shot a carefully controlled beam at the heating element in the middle of the room, not stopping until it glowed red-hot. He set the phaser down on the table, sighing in relief as warmth radiated from the glowing chunk of metal.</p><p> </p><p>Julian couldn’t say it was unwelcome, and he scooted a bit closer to the warmth, suddenly realizing how cold he was.</p><p> </p><p>“No climate controls down here,” O’Brien offered, almost apologetically. “Gotta keep our energy consumption as low as we possibly can. We’re laying low out here.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian glanced around the room. It looked like standard quarters aboard Deep Space Nine, although dark and disused and mostly unfurnished. The replicators were offline, the computer console blank and unresponsive. “And this is Deep Space Nine?” he ventured. “Well—Terok Nor, I suppose?”</p><p> </p><p>O’Brien chuckled. “Good god, no,” he said, glancing up from his work with brief amusement in his eyes. “I imagine the Intendant wouldn’t stand for that. No, this is our, uh, rebel hideout, for the moment. Otherwise known as Empok Nor.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian’s eyebrows went up. “Really?”</p><p> </p><p>“I know, I can hardly believe it myself,” O’Brien said, almost conversational. “It’s a bit of a mess, but it’s ours. The Alliance thinks it’s abandoned, and we’d like to keep it that way. Which is why we can’t do anything to attract their attention.” He sent a baleful glance at the heating element in the middle of the room. “Unfortunately, that includes fixing the bloody environmental controls.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian stared at the softly glowing heating element for a few moments. The air smelled of hot metal, superheated copper and duranium, and burnt plastic; like the inside of an access tunnel. “Why am I here?” he asked finally, looking at O’Brien.</p><p> </p><p>O’Brien shrugged again. When he met Julian’s gaze, only for a second, there was no warmth there. No malice, either. Not much of anything. His gaze was focused, but opaque. Empty. “Beats me.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian frowned. “Miles, you have to send me back,” he implored. “You—you’ve already got a Julian Bashir here.” He paused. “Don’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>O’Brien let out a sardonic chuckle at that. “Oh, do we ever. And believe me when I say he’s not half as polite as you are.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian couldn’t help but be unsettled by the thought. He’d never met his double when he and Kira had traveled to the mirror universe the first time. He realized now that he had no idea what the other Julian Bashir was like, but he didn’t plan on sticking around to find out.</p><p> </p><p>“All the more reason for me to go home,” he insisted. “You were able to bring Captain Sisko here and then send him back, so you can do the same for me, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry. Not this time,” O’Brien responded simply, and his lack of any real concern—so unlike the O’Brien that Julian knew—was starting to become frustrating.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you <em>mean, </em>‘not this time?’” Julian asked, agitated. “Captain Sisko said you had some—some kind of device that could tweak the transporter to take you to our universe!”</p><p> </p><p>“I did,” O’Brien admitted, glancing up from his work again. “But it’s gone now. Broken or destroyed when we got chased off our last base, I’d reckon.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian felt a cold chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. “The transporter in Ops,” he tried, a desperate edge bleeding into his voice. “You can rig it to send me back to my universe.”</p><p> </p><p>O’Brien sighed and put down the gadget he’d been fiddling with for most of their conversation. “The transporters on this station haven’t had power in probably years. It’d take weeks just to get them up and running,” he explained, sounding tired. “And even if I could, using the transporter would give off an energy signal that every Alliance ship within three light years could detect.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian swallowed hard. He hadn’t realized his hands were clenched into trembling fists atop his thighs, nails digging into his palms. “Miles, <em>please</em>,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I’m asking you to help me.”</p><p> </p><p>O’Brien just looked at him for a moment with that distant, tired look in his eyes. He looked exhausted, Julian thought. Perhaps not in the physical way (although he could certainly use some sleep, if the dark circles under his eyes were anything to go by), but in a soul-deep sort of way.</p><p> </p><p>“I would if I could,” he said simply, and Julian believed him. That was how Miles was. He was a good man. “But I can’t.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian swallowed back the tightness he felt in his throat. He got to his feet abruptly, only hesitating for a second at the stiffness in his legs, and headed for the door. “I need some air,” he said by way of explanation, not stopping to think about the irony of the statement.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, wait,” O’Brien protested. “Ziyal said she wanted to see y—!”</p><p> </p><p>The door shut behind Julian before he could hear the rest. His chest felt tight. He needed a moment to just breathe. Glancing around, he realized they were in a section of the habitat ring he didn’t recognize. Or maybe the layout was different on Empok Nor.</p><p> </p><p>Everything looked different in the dim lighting, too. The lack of occupancy lights on the door panels meant that either that function was offline too, or this section of the habitat ring was mostly unoccupied. He wondered how many Terran rebels were here. It couldn’t be many, he thought with distant pessimism.</p><p> </p><p>He kept walking, only to find himself face-to-face with a sealed bulkhead, likely due to a hull breach in the adjoining section. As he turned to leave, he noticed that someone had graffitied the wall with a laser torch. It read, “KLINGONS BAJORANS CARDASSIANS ENTER HERE,” with an arrow pointing towards the bulkhead.</p><p> </p><p>Julian managed a brief, hollow laugh at that.</p><p> </p><p>He walked for nearly ten minutes in the other direction before he found a functioning turbolift.</p><p> </p><p>“Promenade,” he said after a moment of thought.</p><p> </p><p>He almost didn’t believe the turbolift was going to work for a few seconds, but then the mechanism finally shuddered to life and lurched upward. Julian had to grab the railing to steady himself, briefly alarmed, but the lift continued its journey upward without further issue.</p><p> </p><p>Julian didn’t know what he’d expected to see. The Promenade was… grim, to say the least. It was occupied, at least, and the lights were on, but it was a far cry from the bustling shops and restaurants of Deep Space Nine. This place seemed desolate in comparison. It was clear that this station hadn’t been fully functional in years, and the people who occupied it were grim-faced and spoke little.</p><p> </p><p>Some of the old shop stalls had been repurposed into different centers of activity—one had a group of men doing maintenance on phasers, another was filled with a circle of people mending clothes. Another was sorting through scrap metal and discarded components, searching for things that might be useful. They were almost all human, Julian noted, with the occasional Vulcan or Betazoid among them.</p><p> </p><p>People turned to stare at him as he got off the lift, their eyes sharp and suspicious. Julian resisted the urge to stare at the ground and instead forced himself to hold their gazes for a least a few seconds. Most of them looked away, but others glared at him with outright disdain. They knew he didn’t belong here, Julian thought. And they were right.</p><p> </p><p>He walked slowly, trying not to seem hostile. All he wanted was to look around, but an irate man immediately marched up to him after setting down his phaser rifle.</p><p> </p><p>Julian took a half-step back, putting his hands up and opening his mouth to placate the man, but he wouldn’t have it.</p><p> </p><p>“You think you’re better than the rest of us,” the man spat. Clearly he had a bone to pick with this universe’s Bashir. “Just because you’re fucking that Trill doesn’t mean you’re her favorite. Trust me.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian was first shocked, then angry. Not for himself, but for Jadzia—he wasn’t going to let anyone talk about her like that! Not in any universe.</p><p> </p><p>He stared coldly into the man’s eyes. “Clearly she has better taste than you give her credit for,” he said acidly, before he really thought about it.</p><p> </p><p>The man didn’t deign to reply. Instead he simply punched Julian in the face, hard enough to send him stumbling backwards into the wall.</p><p> </p><p>Julian was stunned for a moment as his back hit the wall, incredulous. He reached up to gingerly probe at his aching nose. He didn’t think it was broken, but he was definitely bleeding. He could taste blood when he licked his lips.</p><p> </p><p>“C’mon,” the man goaded, eyes glittering. He shoved at Julian’s shoulder, hard. A crowd had begun to gather in a loose semicircle around them, murmuring with interest. “I’ve been waiting for this a long time. Or has she got you pussywhipped already?”</p><p> </p><p>Julian hadn’t been in a real fistfight since his freshman year at the academy. He knew it wasn’t fair; he could seriously hurt someone without even trying. Although it was mostly his mental abilities that had been enhanced, he <em>was </em>stronger than the average human—though not enough to match a Vulcan or a Cardassian. All the same, Julian was tempted to throw a punch just to shut the man up, human or no.</p><p> </p><p>Thankfully, he was saved from having to make the decision.</p><p> </p><p>Before the fight could escalate further, a dark-skinned Vulcan slipped through the crowd with ease and calmly pinched the junction between the man’s neck and shoulder. The result was that the man went down like a sack of potatoes, crumpling to the ground in an unconscious heap. The Vulcan regarded him with a cool, disinterested look.</p><p> </p><p>“I believe that is enough,” he said levelly.</p><p> </p><p>Julian just stared at him, wide-eyed.</p><p> </p><p>The Vulcan regarded him for a moment, then turned to the loosely gathered crowd with that same unflappable demeanor. “Is there a need for me to repeat my previous demonstration?”</p><p> </p><p>The crowd dispersed after that, going back to their previous activities with only some mild grumbling. Clearly they had been hoping for some entertainment, but the Vulcan wasn’t having it.</p><p> </p><p>“Um, thanks,” Julian said after a moment, feeling somewhat awkward now that the Vulcan’s intense gaze was back on him. He reached up to dab at his bloody nose with his sleeve, wincing. It wasn’t broken, but it sure did sting.</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Bashir, I must ask that you come with me,” said the Vulcan, undeterred.</p><p> </p><p>Julian frowned. “Who are you?” he asked after a pause. He looked vaguely familiar, but Julian couldn’t say how or from where.</p><p> </p><p>The Vulcan’s expression did not change, but Julian got the impression he was doing the same thing O’Brien had done when he was sizing Julian up earlier.</p><p> </p><p>“My name is Tuvok,” he responded after a beat of silence, and it seemed with just the minute shift in his tone of voice that he had come to a conclusion. Whether it was a good or a bad one, Julian had no idea. He started to walk away, and Julian had no choice but to follow him.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, hey, wait a second,” he insisted, hurrying after the Vulcan. “Don’t you want to know who I am, or—or what I’m doing here?” He decided to go out on a limb. “You know that I’m not—well, I’m not the Bashir you know.”</p><p> </p><p>“All of that information is easily deduced logically,” Tuvok said, seemingly unfazed. He got into the turbolift and waited for Julian to follow. After a brief hesitation, he did.</p><p> </p><p>“Operations,” Tuvok said, and the lift jolted into motion.</p><p> </p><p>Julian briefly wondered who was in charge of this place. Was it Captain Sisko, or some version of him? The Captain had been tight-lipped about his trip to the mirror universe at the behest of “Smiley” O’Brien.</p><p> </p><p>He was beginning to think he should have asked when the lift shuddered to a halt. Ops looked much the same as it did on Deep Space Nine, at least with regards to structure. There was a group gathered around the central console, several Terrans and—to his delight—Jadzia. And with short hair, nonetheless.</p><p> </p><p>Jadzia was engaged in a heated argument with a tall, leanly muscled Cardassian, whose back was to them. Julian was briefly shocked, until he remembered what Ziyal had said earlier and his mind put two and two together. Suddenly he wished he could be anywhere but here.</p><p> </p><p>Jadzia cut herself off mid-sentence, and her gaze settled on Julian with a frown.</p><p> </p><p>“Captain,” Tuvok announced their presence as they stepped off the lift, and Julian’s stomach lurched. “I have located Mr. Bashir.”</p><p> </p><p>Her reaction prompted the Cardassian to turn and look at them. His orbital ridges went up in surprise. “Well, well. How nice of you to clean up for our meeting, <em>Captain </em>Bashir,” he drawled sarcastically.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s ‘Doctor,’ actually,” was the only thing Julian could think to say, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut.</p><p> </p><p>Dukat just looked at Julian for a moment, studying him. Ziyal had her father’s eyes, Julian thought faintly. Just when Julian couldn’t stand the tension anymore, a slow smile spread across Dukat’s face, sharp like his eyes, and he let out a low chuckle.</p><p> </p><p>“I have to say, I’ve never seen you frightened of me before,” Dukat remarked. His grin showed his teeth. “I rather like it.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re the least of my worries at the moment,” Julian retorted as steadily as he could manage.</p><p> </p><p>“You are among friends, Doctor Bashir,” said Tuvok levelly, from his place near another one of the computer consoles. “This is the resistance.”</p><p> </p><p>“The resistance?” Julian repeated, hardly able to believe it. He let out an incredulous huff of laughter. “Led by a Cardassian? A Cardassian war criminal, nonetheless!”</p><p> </p><p>Dukat was looking at Julian, and the doctor couldn’t help but wonder if he’d just made a mistake. He stood his ground, though, and looked Dukat in the eye despite the jittery feeling of suppressed anxiety that hadn’t gone away since he’d arrived here.</p><p> </p><p>Then, Dukat actually <em>laughed</em>. It was a chillingly familiar sound, low and throaty and unhurried.</p><p> </p><p>Julian wondered how different this Dukat was from his counterpart in the other universe. Personality-wise, that was. For all his talk, Julian was admittedly nervous. When he’d so brazenly confronted Dukat about the war orphans, during Rugal’s case, emboldened by Garak’s clues, Julian hadn’t had a clue who he was dealing with at the time. He’d seen the incredulous look on Kotan Pa’Dar’s face when Julian had waltzed in and started asking questions, but he didn’t know quite how serious it was at the time.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t until later, when word got around the station and Kira had given him a rundown of Dukat’s sordid record that Julian realized what a dangerous enemy he’d possibly made.</p><p> </p><p>Julian thought of Garak’s doppelganger—his callous disregard for Terran lives, his unfettered cruelty—and hoped like hell that he’d gotten luckier than his last trip to the mirror universe.</p><p> </p><p>Dukat circled Julian slowly, and Julian tried not to seem uncomfortable.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>This </em>is your latest toy, Dax?” Dukat remarked offhandedly. “You really do break them quickly, don’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>Jadzia grimaced. “I think we all know this isn’t the same Bashir,” she said with her arms crossed.</p><p> </p><p>“I would be inclined to agree with you,” Dukat said with unsettling amusement.</p><p> </p><p>Julian wasn’t sure what to make of it.</p><p> </p><p>Dukat looked different without the uniform, Julian thought. The lack of the angular heavy cuirass meant his pale gray coloring was less harshly contrasted against the drab dark blues and grays of his outfit, cobbled together from whatever could be found, like most of the rebels. Without the bulk of the armor he was whip-thin and sinuously built, belying his Cardassian strength. He wore a disruptor pistol at his belt, Klingon in design. This seemed to be a “take what you can get” universe.</p><p> </p><p>More interesting was the fact that Dukat’s claws were long and sharp, with a wicked reptilian curve, except for those on his first two fingers. Julian knew from talking to Garak that the Cardassian Union’s protocol required officers to keep their claws short and blunt. It was considered uncouth to keep them long, Garak had said. At one time, it had been quite normal for Cardassians to keep some of their claws long and some short, for tasks of varying dexterity. As the military evolved, though, there was also the issue of dexterity when wielding a phaser, and keeping them short had become standard. But the real reason, Garak had revealed later on, was that it was very easy to open another Cardassian’s throat with those claws if one went for the softer scales just under the jaw, and the military had seen one too many assassinations succeed that way. Julian tried not to think about the implications.</p><p> </p><p>Most striking, though, was the scar that went from Dukat’s orbital ridge to his cheekbone, across his left eye. The eye itself was milky white with scar tissue and presumably blind, but it did nothing to diminish the intensity of his gaze. Dukat had other scars, most notably the parallel set of three on his left neck ridge, but the one on his face was the most noticeable.</p><p> </p><p>Julian realized he’d not spoken in almost a full minute. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on him, and while that typically didn’t bother him (in fact, he usually delighted in it), in this particular instance he felt distinctly like a vole dropped into a pit of hungry targs. He cleared his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, if you can just send me on back to my universe, then I’ll be out of your hair,” he said, trying for casual. “You all must be very busy.”</p><p> </p><p>Jadzia wasn’t impressed. “We can’t send you back. And I think you already know that,” she said with more than a hint of irritation in her tone.</p><p> </p><p>Julian couldn’t help but deflate a little under her glare.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, and there is the issue of our Captain Bashir,” Dukat said, claws tapping against the metal of the console as he leaned a hip against it. “For all his… volatility, he was adept at piloting as well as killing Klingons.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t suppose you’re any good at either of those?” Jadzia asked with raised eyebrows, looking at Julian expectantly.</p><p> </p><p>Julian hesitated, rocking back on his heels and tugging on his sleeves. “Well…” It was true that he’d taken the requisite shuttle piloting courses at the Academy and was capable of co-piloting a craft with no problem—flying a runabout was within his skill set, too—but he was certainly no ace pilot. As for killing Klingons… Julian hadn’t killed anything larger than a vole since coming to the station. His whole profession was about <em>saving </em>lives, not taking them!</p><p> </p><p>“That figures,” Jadzia said bluntly. She turned back to Dukat, almost accusingly. “<em>Now </em>what do we do?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, it appears we are short a pilot,” Dukat said with that thin veneer of politeness that was so irritatingly Cardassian in nature. “I never thought we would find ourselves missing Captain Bashir’s particular skillset.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, and now we’ve got <em>this,</em>” Jadzia said with no small amount of disappointment, gesturing somewhat irritably towards Julian.</p><p> </p><p>Julian felt a twinge of irritation. It was starting to grate on his nerves, this constant comparison of him to his alternate universe double—whom he had never even met! “<em>This? </em>I hardly asked for <em>this,</em>” he said acidly, gesturing vaguely around him. “I am <em>terribly </em>sorry that my more violently inclined counterpart has gone missing in all this, but I don’t appreciate your talking about me like I’m not even here!”</p><p> </p><p>Jadzia exchanged glances with Dukat, nodding appreciatively. “Hm. We might get some use out of him after all.”</p><p> </p><p>“I <em>am </em>a doctor, you know,” Julian felt compelled to add, with just a hint of acerbic disdain.</p><p> </p><p>Just then the computer console chirped insistently, an alarm going off, and one of the Terrans looked up, stiffening. “Proximity alert,” he announced, and all those present immediately surrounded the console. “It’s an Alliance patrol ship, passing within two light years.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut down all power except life support and emergency systems,” Dukat ordered, and the Terrans at the other consoles scrambled to comply. His ridged face was grim. “Within two light years… They’re passing closer every time.”</p><p> </p><p>“And they’ll see the same thing on sensors they do every other time,” Jadzia said as she was punching buttons on the console, shutting down the only partially operating fusion reactor and diverting the remaining power. “Nothing.”</p><p> </p><p>The lights in Ops flickered briefly and then dimmed to their lowest setting, just enough for Cardassian eyes to see adequately. For everyone else, it was near-total darkness. The red-tinted emergency lights illuminated the way to the exits and to the consoles, which were totally black except for the most basic proximity sensors and internal readouts.</p><p> </p><p>“Report from the other sections,” Dukat said, looking at Jadzia.</p><p> </p><p>“Engineering is totally offline,” she responded, eyes flicking from screen to screen. “Infirmary is dark. Habitat ring is dark. Life support functioning at the lowest possible level to maintain stable atmospheric mix.”</p><p> </p><p>The whole room seemed to give a collective sigh of relief. That meant they were safe for now, Julian supposed, but still he felt totally out of his element, uncomfortable and on display, even in the dark. He’d spent a good amount of time in a room just like this one on board DS9, and yet he’d never felt more clueless.</p><p> </p><p>“What do we do now?” Julian asked after a pause, feeling childish for asking. He could already feel the ambient temperature dropping.</p><p> </p><p>The bluish light from the computer consoles cast stark shadows over Jadzia’s features. Her eyes seemed to catch the light and glow. “We wait.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Others</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If Julian had thought the station was dark and quiet before, it was like a ghost ship now. It was almost eerie, with whole sections entirely dark but for the glow of emergency exit lights and the colored lights that marked the edges of doors, bulkheads, and corridors. Even the hum of the fusion generator was gone now, and the quiet was unnerving. Apparently, it was protocol for the supposedly abandoned station to go dark for as long as any Alliance ships were in sensor range. Normally they didn’t stick around long, he was told.</p><p> </p><p>Julian could only hope that was true.</p><p> </p><p>People were huddled around portable heaters and battery-powered lamps on the Promenade and elsewhere, clusters of four or five talking in low voices amongst themselves or soothing frightened children.</p><p> </p><p>Julian had taken to heart Jadzia’s brusque order to “make himself useful” and had been wandering the station offering medical aid to anyone who needed it. He’d been able to retrieve a medkit from the infirmary (after finding something to help him pry the door open), and after some coaxing, he’d been able to treat at least fifteen patients already, with ailments ranging from sprained ankles to phaser burns to pneumonia. The Terrans were suspicious of him at first—none of them had ever seen a Terran doctor before, and those that knew the other Bashir were downright hostile. But even they had heard of the old stories, of James Kirk and the mirror universe, and they were amused if not quite convinced of his stories from the other universe, where Terrans were a powerful force of peace and goodwill in the galaxy.</p><p> </p><p>He could see why it was hard to believe. The more he saw of the so-called rebellion, the more that quiet dread weighed heavy on his chest. These people weren’t soldiers. They were frightened and traumatized ex-slaves desperate to escape a life of brutality and terror, a beaten people whose only hope lay in the leadership of a small but tenacious group—among them an exiled Cardassian gul and a displaced Trill. There were other rebel factions out there, but the cells had to stay separate for the sake of their own survival—so that if one was caught or destroyed, the others could continue operating independently.</p><p> </p><p>But the Alliance was made up of trained soldiers—ruthless imperial forces with much more than a few stolen weapons caches and a hidden base on a dilapidated space station. Even if the rebels did everything right, Julian had calculated their chances of survival, and they weren’t good. He tried not to think too much about it.</p><p> </p><p>Julian couldn’t deny that he was exhausted. He had no idea what time it was; none of the chronometers were functioning, but it didn’t really matter. It was uniformly dark no matter what. He’d been working by the light of portable lamps and glow-packs for hours, and his eyes were aching from it. His enhanced vision helped some, but even he wasn’t immune to fatigue.</p><p> </p><p>He ran into O’Brien in the habitat ring, whilst looking for some empty quarters to collapse in for a few hours.</p><p> </p><p>“Still fixing things, eh, Chief?” he asked with a tired smile.</p><p> </p><p>O’Brien glanced down at the toolkit in his hand, as though surprised. “Yeah, for a bit,” he said after a moment. There was a pause as they stood outside the door to O’Brien’s assumed quarters, in the dark. “Well, uh, you may as well come in.”</p><p> </p><p>Feeling a bit awkward, Julian followed him inside after O’Brien jimmied the door.</p><p> </p><p>It was a few blissful degrees warmer inside, and Julian couldn’t help but be relieved. He’d given his uniform jacket to a woman whose child was suffering from pneumonia, and while he didn’t regret it, that left him in nothing but his high-necked blue undershirt. He sighed with relief, setting his medkit down and sinking down onto the couch.</p><p> </p><p>O’Brien set his toolkit on the cluttered table and got out a lamp with portable power cells, turning it on halfway so they weren’t sitting in near-total darkness. It almost reminded Julian of sitting around a campfire, as absurd as that was, and he couldn’t help the pang of homesickness he felt for the times spent with the O’Brien of his universe, going on old Earth adventures in the holosuite.</p><p> </p><p>“So,” Julian began after what felt like a long silence. It had always been so easy to make conversation with Miles, back home, but here... Everything that was familiar now felt foreign, and he wanted desperately to find something that felt vaguely normal. “What do you usually do when things like this happen?”</p><p> </p><p>O’Brien sat in the angular armchair across from him, sighing quietly. He was looking at Julian with slightly furrowed brows, as though Julian were something bizarre.</p><p> </p><p>It was a fair assessment, Julian supposed.</p><p> </p><p>“I know this must be strange for you,” O’Brien said finally. He glanced away. “I know it is for me. But… we’re not friends.” A pause. “At least, not in this universe,” he added hastily, perhaps seeing the look on Julian’s face.</p><p> </p><p>Julian tried to push away the hurt that welled up in his chest. It made the hollow, homesick ache behind his ribs that much more intense, but he refused to show it. “That’s fair,” he said, swallowing thickly. After all, he hadn’t exactly heard glowing praise for his counterpart’s sociability. “It’s just… things are so different here.”</p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t meant for it to come out so wishy-washy like that, but it was the truth. Everywhere he turned, all the things that were supposed to be familiar were turned upside down. Nothing was as he expected it to be, or even imagined it could be.</p><p> </p><p>“So I’ve heard,” O’Brien said with a wry chuckle. “I may regret asking this, but… what’s it like on your side?”</p><p> </p><p>Julian couldn’t help but let out a scoff. “Certainly nothing like this!” he said wryly, gesturing around them. “You know, I thought it was a bit of a pain sometimes, making things work on DS9, but…” He trailed off, realizing he didn’t quite know what else to say.</p><p> </p><p>O’Brien nodded, like this was something interesting. “Are the Cardassians still in charge of Terok Nor over there?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not anymore,” Julian said. “Deep Space Nine technically belongs to Bajor, but Starfleet is in charge for the moment. Captain Sisko does that job, and I don’t envy him for it.”</p><p> </p><p>A shadow passed over O’Brien’s features at the mention of Sisko, and even Julian could pick up on the shift in his manner. “That so, huh?” he said quietly. “He was a good captain.” He made the words sound bitter, almost.</p><p> </p><p>Julian looked at him and knew immediately what the mirror Sisko’s fate must have been. “He is, on my side. I didn’t know your Captain Sisko, but ours is a good man.”</p><p> </p><p>O’Brien snorted. “Ours was a scoundrel. He was a good captain—a great one, actually, but not a good man, no.” A pause. “The resistance needed him. Still does.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you got <em>Gul Dukat </em>to replace him?” Julian couldn’t help the slight incredulity that seeped into his tone, looking at O’Brien with eyebrows raised.</p><p> </p><p>“It wasn’t like we planned it,” O’Brien said, perhaps a little defensively. “Besides, we’re working with what we’ve got.” There was a pause while he fiddled with the portable heater in between them. “He’s not so bad, really. As Cardassians go.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian’s eyebrows went up even further. “Now there’s something I never thought I’d hear Miles O’Brien say.”</p><p> </p><p>O’Brien looked at him. “Do any of us Terrans look like we came into this knowing a phaser from the arse end of a targ? Or anything about strategy, or fighting a war, or Alliance patrol routes?” He shrugged. “A Cardassian military officer does. That, and more.”</p><p> </p><p>“How can you trust him?” Julian insisted, leaning forward, both to get closer to the weak heat source and to see O’Brien’s face better in the near-darkness. “Don’t you know what he’s done? At least, in my universe.”</p><p> </p><p>O’Brien shrugged again. “Around here, you learn not to trust anybody,” he said, like that was a perfectly acceptable answer. “But Dukat’s got his reasons for fighting against the Alliance. Just like we all do. D’you think he and his daughter would be here if they had anywhere else to be?”</p><p> </p><p>Julian felt some of the wind go out of his sails. It made sense, but he was still unsettled by it. “What happened?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t make it my business to go poking around for stuff like that,” O’Brien responded, perhaps a bit defensively. “I just fix things.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian sat back against the hard-edged back of the couch. “Right,” he said after a moment.</p><p> </p><p>There was a long silence, with nothing but the smell of hot metal and plastic between them. Outside the viewport, the distant stars were cold pinpricks of light, and looking at them didn’t bring Julian the comfort it usually did.</p><p> </p><p>“How’s Keiko?” Julian asked finally.</p><p> </p><p>O’Brien frowned at him. There was no hint of recognition in his gaze, only the same distant, tired look Julian had seen in the eyes of so many other Terrans. “Who’s Keiko?”</p><p> </p><p>Julian glanced away, guilt squirming uncomfortably in his belly. “Never mind.”</p><p> </p><p> He was still exhausted, but it didn’t feel right to press O’Brien any further. He stood, feeling his feet start aching all over again. “I, er, don’t want to be a bother.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s alright, I don’t mind,” O’Brien said without moving, staring into the portable heat source and its dimly glowing power coils.</p><p> </p><p>Julian glanced over his shoulder at O’Brien as he headed for the door.</p><p> </p><p>O’Brien looked up after a second, eyes guarded. His shoulders were tense, his head partially lowered, like an animal that expected to be struck.</p><p> </p><p>Julian slipped out the door after that, not looking back to see O’Brien’s eyes on him, watching him go.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Julian wasn’t entirely sure of what to do with himself now. He’d resumed his wandering of the station like a restless spirit, encountering sequestered Terrans and treating minor burns and cuts and broken bones until his supplies were exhausted. A Terran woman had given him water and a couple ration bars as thanks for treating her son’s broken arm, and Julian was reminded again of how little he’d eaten or slept in the time since he’d found himself in this strange world. It felt like much longer than a mere day. Now, in the shadow of the Promenade, Julian was seriously considering finding a secluded corner and curling up on the floor to sleep. All the quarters on the habitat ring, occupied or not, could only be opened from the inside (or pried from the outside) now that everything but life support was shut down.</p><p> </p><p>It came as a total surprise when a pair of strong hands shoved him up against the wall, and suddenly Jadzia was kissing him with a ferocity that could draw blood. Her teeth were biting at his lips, her tongue in his mouth with an aggression he most definitely had not anticipated.</p><p> </p><p>His hands scrabbled at her shoulders, trying to push her away out of pure shock, and she conceded.</p><p> </p><p>She pulled back, hands still fisted in his blue uniform undershirt, the both of them panting softly in each other’s faces. Her eyes were intense and serious, searching.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not him,” was all she said. It was a statement, not a question. There was perhaps a hint of disappointment there, or something else Julian couldn’t decipher.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” he said, almost apologetically. He couldn’t help but lick his bitten lips. “I’m not.”</p><p> </p><p>Jadzia sighed and took a step back, releasing her death grip on his shirt and crossing her arms. “I figured it was worth a shot,” she said with a wry smile. “Sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s alright,” Julian said, still a bit dazed from how fast the whole thing had happened. Belatedly, he realized that this Jadzia and his mirror self must have been involved somehow. Under normal circumstances, this would have delighted him, but all he felt now was… tired.</p><p> </p><p>Jadzia looked him up and down. “You look like you’re falling asleep on your feet, Doc,” she commented, guiding him to sit down with his back against the wall. He was too distracted by the warmth of her strong hands on his arms to make any witty comments.</p><p> </p><p>She settled herself against a support beam just across from him, so that they were just a few feet apart—close enough to talk to one another in hushed voices that didn’t echo across the Promenade.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s been something of a long day,” Julian said with a wry smile.</p><p> </p><p>“You should get some rest,” Jadzia said. “We’re gonna need you pretty soon.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian blinked. “For what?”</p><p> </p><p>“For what else?” Jadzia put her arms up, gesturing around them. “We haven’t had a real doctor around here for a long time.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian sighed. “Jadzia, you know I can’t stay here,” he said, looking into those intense blue-green eyes. “Of course I’ll do what I can while I’m here, but I’m going home as soon as I can.”</p><p> </p><p>“I wouldn’t count on it.”</p><p> </p><p>“And just what does that mean?” Julian asked, prickling.</p><p> </p><p>“Exactly what it sounds like.” Jadzia wasn’t backing down, her tone sharp. It wasn’t a threat, either. Just a statement of fact.</p><p> </p><p>But it was one that Julian didn’t particularly like, and he glared at her despite himself. “Look, I sympathize with you, I really do. But this is <em>your </em>war, not mine.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good luck telling that to the Alliance when they capture you, then,” Jadzia said scathingly, a flash of Curzon’s infamous temper glittering in her eyes. “If they don’t kill you straight away, they’ll throw you back in ore processing, same as any other Terran. And what’ll you do then? Tell them it’s all a mistake?”</p><p> </p><p>Her words bit like a whip, partly because Julian knew she was right. He didn’t like to think about his first trip to the mirror universe, and for the most part he’d managed to tamp those memories down until they seemed like a distant nightmare. But with his near-flawless memory he remembered that hellish place in excruciating detail—the suffocating heat, the stink of toxic metals and gases burning his eyes and his throat alike, blisters on his palms after less than an hour from pushing heavy carts laden with slag or hot, reeking uridium ore. It wasn’t a place he was eager to revisit.</p><p> </p><p>“None of us are going to be captured if you do your job right,” Julian shot back, discomfited.</p><p> </p><p>Jadzia snorted. “Our job? That’s a good one. You know, as someone from the other universe, I’m sure the Intendant will be <em>real </em>interested in you,” she went on, unnervingly casual. “But you probably know how she gets bored easily. She likes to play with her food now and again, but then she leaves it to bleed. Garak’s the one who finishes the job.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian stiffened at the mention of Garak’s name, and Jadzia didn’t miss it.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, so you know him,” she said with a mirthless little laugh. Her smile was more like a baring of teeth. “Good. I’m sure he’ll be delighted. I don’t know what he’s like on the other side, but here he’s a real nasty piece of work.” She leaned forward, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “Garak <em>likes </em>his job. Mostly because the Intendant lets him finish what she starts. She has her fun, and then he goes in and does the real work.”</p><p> </p><p>“Stop it,” Julian said, trying to sound forceful, but it came out like a plea.</p><p> </p><p>Jadzia’s smile was joyless, her features shadowed ghoulishly by the dim red-tinted emergency lights. She chuckled. “You know, I hear that Garak likes to take his time.” She made a show of looking Julian up and down. “I can imagine what kind of work he’d do on someone like you: young, pretty, scared. He’d take you apart and <em>smile </em>while he peeled you open, piece by bloody piece, until you’d say <em>anything </em>just to make it all—”</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, you’ve made your point!” Julian snapped, cutting her off.</p><p> </p><p>“Have I?” Jadzia said sharply. “None of us are doing this because we <em>want </em>to, Julian. We’re doing this because we <em>have </em>to.”</p><p> </p><p>“Even you?” Julian pressed. “Even Dukat? I don’t understand. What are you in this for? You’re not even a Terran!”</p><p> </p><p>Jadzia’s gaze was like ice. Her smile was wintry. “The Alliance killed everyone I’ve ever cared about. More than I can name. Ben, for one, and even—” She cut herself off, looking down at the floor for a moment. “Even you.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a pause. Julian swallowed. “You really think he’s… gone?”</p><p> </p><p>Jadzia shrugged her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter. If he’s not dead, then I hope to gods he is soon.” Another pause. “As for Dukat, we all know he’s only here because of Ziyal. He wants to protect her, and this is the best way for him to do it—and to get back at the Alliance at the same time. And I don’t care, frankly. He’s the reason we’ve gotten as far as we have.”</p><p> </p><p>“And everyone else?” Julian found himself asking. “Miles and Tuvok and—and all these families?”</p><p> </p><p>Jadzia looked tired now. It was the same look Julian had been seeing all day, in the eyes of Terrans all over the station. “They’ve got nowhere else to go. They’re all here fighting because fighting is all they’ve got left.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian fell silent after that, for once in his life not knowing what to say. She left him in the dark like that, without another word, and in the chill of the perpetual night Julian couldn't help but feel very small indeed. </p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Two hours and twenty minutes later, according to his irritatingly precise internal clock, Julian woke up freezing on the floor in the shadow of the Promenade, curled into a ball so tight it made his back hurt. He felt a boot nudge his back and was suddenly very much awake, scrambling to sit up as his instincts were telling him to <em>run</em>. But the thrill of fear was gone as quickly as it had come, and Julian looked up at the shadowed figure standing near him.</p><p> </p><p>Dukat lifted a ridged brow. “I only asked if you were comfortable there.”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you think?” Julian asked tartly as he rolled his shoulders, grimacing at the twinges from his back. It was still dark and cold, but the time was anyone’s guess. Without the station’s artificial circadian cycle, the black void of space was like one long night.</p><p> </p><p>“Would you like to have a drink with me, Doctor?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why would I want to—hey!” Annoyed, Julian found himself addressing Dukat’s back as the Cardassian merely kept walking, not even breaking his stride.</p><p> </p><p>Sighing irritably, Julian got to his feet (he did <em>not </em>hurry, thank you very much) and jogged to catch up with Dukat. Privately, Julian had to admit that it was probably good for him to get the blood flowing to his legs again. His toes were numb inside his boots. But he wasn’t going to say that.</p><p> </p><p>“What is it you want with me in the middle of the night?” Julian asked, still a bit annoyed at being woken up.</p><p> </p><p>“You seem to be quite capable,” Dukat remarked in an apparent non sequitur. “Both in your medical skills and in your ability to adapt to… novel situations.”</p><p> </p><p>Like nearly every conversation he had with a Cardassian, Julian wasn’t sure of where this was going. “That is what I was trained for,” he responded guardedly.</p><p> </p><p>Dukat glanced at him, amusement glimmering in his one blue eye in the dark. “You don’t trust me.” It was phrased as a statement, not a question, but not an accusation, either. “Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re a Cardassian,” Julian said, though he felt a little twinge of guilt as soon as the words were out. He was starting to sound like Miles. “What other reason do I need?”</p><p> </p><p>They rounded a corner towards the turbolift, and Julian hissed as his foot caught on a piece of discarded metal and nearly tripped.</p><p> </p><p>Dukat didn’t seem at all fazed by this. He effortlessly caught Julian’s arm, keeping him from falling on his face in the darkened corridor before they stepped into the lift. “Fair enough, but I think there’s more to it than that. I think that we’ve met before. Or at the very least, you know of me.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a brief pause as Julian considered how much he should say about his own universe, and he had no good conclusions. “Alright, how’d you know?” he asked, trying not to sound defensive as he pulled his arm out of Dukat’s grasp.</p><p> </p><p>“Terrans are quite easy to read,” Dukat responded with that irritatingly supercilious air that Julian found quite familiar from his own universe. “You’re like an open book, my dear doctor.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian’s irritation evaporated in the wake of the emotion that suddenly constricted his chest in a sweet ache. That last comment sounded so much like something Garak would say that it sent a fresh bolt of homesickness through him, an ache behind his ribs.</p><p> </p><p>“Doctor?” Dukat prodded after a moment’s silence, curious.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s nothing,” Julian said, perhaps too quickly. He realized that they had come to the habitat ring almost without his noticing, so wrapped up had he been in his own thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>Dukat knocked on the door of the third set of quarters they came to, and it was Ziyal who opened the door, looking like she’d just woken up but holding a phaser rifle all the same. Her gaze briefly flicked to Julian, but she seemed to pay him no mind. She seemed to relax upon seeing her father, though.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh. It’s you,” she said, relieved and soft-edged in her sleepiness, lowering the phaser. Julian thought she looked younger, more like the gentle young woman he knew from his universe.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Dukat said fondly as they came in the door, and he embraced his daughter, pressing their foreheads together briefly. He stroked her hair affectionately when they separated. “Go back to sleep, Ziyal.”</p><p> </p><p>“You sure? I can keep watch.” But Ziyal’s eyelids were already drooping. It was a few blessed degrees warmer in here than in the corridor, and it was enough to make Julian sleepy himself.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s no need, my dear.”</p><p> </p><p>Ziyal seemed to accept this, and she laid back down on the couch in front of the heat source, though she kept the phaser rifle within reach on the floor.</p><p> </p><p>It was all very bizarre, Julian thought. Everything felt upside down and backwards, and he still wasn’t used to it. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was some big cosmic joke on him. How was he to believe it? That somehow, in this universe, his friend Garak was a ruthless, sadistic torturer in service of a brutal empire, while Dukat was a freedom fighter taking on said empire with nothing but a ragtag group of Terrans? That most of the people he knew were dead, and those still alive were embittered with violence and trauma? That his very existence as a free being was a crime?</p><p> </p><p>Well, that last part he could believe. But that was an entirely different secret.</p><p> </p><p>Julian didn’t realize he was nearly nodding off on his feet before he was gently led to another room by his elbow, and he found that he didn’t mind so much. This room was smaller, and the portable heat source was somewhat more effective, much to Julian’s relief. He realized, belatedly, that if he was cold, then Dukat must be freezing, but the Cardassian was doing a good job of acting unbothered.</p><p> </p><p>There was also a portable light source in the room, turned down low but enough so that Julian could see properly. It was a disused office of some kind, with a desk and a couch and a dusty viewport that showed an expanse of unfamiliar stars.</p><p> </p><p>Dukat poured two glasses of kanar and handed one to Julian, who looked at it in surprise.</p><p> </p><p>“You have this, but not adequate medical supplies for the infirmary?” Julian asked with a raised brow.</p><p> </p><p>“We don’t get to choose the contents of the supply shipments we raid, Doctor. It’s rather the luck of the draw.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian eyed the glass in his hand. He’d never been a fan of kanar, but something to steady his nerves sounded pretty good at the moment. He tossed back the syrupy liquor in a single shot, watching Dukat do the same. Julian grimaced at the taste, an acidic sort of burn that coated his throat all the way down. It was unpleasant at first, but already he felt the warmth start to settle in his stomach. He hoped it would soon spread to the rest of him.</p><p> </p><p>Julian tried to hide a cough by clearing his throat, holding out his glass. “Hit me again.”</p><p> </p><p>After about fifteen minutes had gone by, he was thinking that perhaps the second shot had been overdoing it. He’d forgotten that the alcohol content in kanar was much higher than that of most human liquors—Cardassians did not get drunk easily. But the gentle fuzziness in his head was worth it, if only because he couldn’t quite remember what he had been so concerned about earlier. Enhanced metabolism be damned.</p><p> </p><p>Julian let himself lay back against the arm of the couch, the other end of which was occupied by Dukat, who had been talking about some thing or another while Julian was content to lay there and listen in a haze. It was probably Ziyal. Dukat liked to talk about Ziyal.</p><p> </p><p>But Julian’s attention had drifted. He remembered something Dax had said to him earlier in the night. “Why’re you going to need me soon?”</p><p> </p><p>Dukat paused, looking vaguely surprised. “I beg your pardon?”</p><p> </p><p>Julian sat up halfway, feeling the world tilt just for a moment. His head was still mostly clear. “Jadzia said something about--that the rebellion was going to need a doctor soon.”</p><p> </p><p>“I think that’s true in a general sense,” Dukat responded, deflecting.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re planning something,” Julian insisted. “She wouldn’t have mentioned it if you weren’t.”</p><p> </p><p>Dukat regarded him with a glimmer of amusement in his eye. “I do believe I’ve underestimated your tolerance for kanar, Doctor.” He sounded impressed, and Julian couldn’t help the little flutter of pride he felt in his chest. “Very well. She would have told you if I hadn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>And so he told Julian about their plan, about the ship built by the Alliance to hunt the rebels in the wake of the unfinished advanced sensor array—information helpfully provided by Professor Jennifer Sisko. Their window of time was narrow. The rebels were planning to launch a daring assault on Terok Nor in two days, engage the Alliance forces with a distraction, board the station, and steal the ship in the confusion. If they succeeded, it would be a significant victory; the ship’s firepower would add considerable strength to their forces as well as boost morale. It would be a beacon of hope to the Terrans, and those defying the Alliance everywhere.</p><p> </p><p>But if they failed… It was likely that none of them would survive. Their little band of rebels would be finished, either captured or executed by the Alliance—and the latter was likely preferable.</p><p> </p><p>“I think I need another drink,” was what Julian said at last. He did, for what he was about to say.</p><p> </p><p>Dukat obliged him, filling their glasses again. Julian thought that perhaps the kanar was becoming more palatable the more he drank. The room felt warm now, his skin feeling flushed.</p><p> </p><p>“I want to fight,” Julian said. The kanar helped him look Dukat in the eye when he said it.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re in luck,” Dukat said with a glimmer of amusement in his good eye as he raised his glass to drink. At some point the Cardassian had taken his boots off and curled his long legs up under him on the couch, folded up in a neat lizard-like bundle with his back resting comfortably against the arm of the couch. If he had a tail, Julian imagined it would be resting primly across his knees.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean that I… I want to go on the mission to steal the ship,” Julian clarified, having to take a moment to find his words. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking of what Jadzia had said to him earlier, and it helped reassure him that he was doing the right thing. If he really was stuck here, then he might as well make himself useful.</p><p> </p><p>Julian didn’t think of himself as a particularly brave person. Determined, perhaps, as demonstrated by his desire to come out to the border in pursuit of his “frontier medicine”—foolish though it seemed now. But not brave. There was a reason his uniform was blue and not red. In fact, if there was conflict about, then it was his job to reasonably avoid it and patch up his comrades afterwards. But dammit, he was still a Starfleet officer, and his fellow Terrans needed him.</p><p> </p><p><em>Fellow Terrans</em>. When had he started thinking of himself as one of them? Was it after he’d been forced into the assembly line in ore processing, cringing under the overseer’s lash just like all the rest of them? After seeing Miles’ thousand-kilometer stare, seeing the hunted looks in the eyes of the other Terrans aboard the station? He didn’t know.</p><p> </p><p>“When we do have need of a doctor, it will be <em>after </em>the mission,” Dukat clarified, like Julian was dense.</p><p> </p><p>But that didn’t stop Julian. “I can do better than that. Where I come from, I live on Deep—on Terok Nor. I’ve been living and working as a doctor there for three years. I know the place better than almost anyone,” he insisted. “You’ll need someone who knows their way around. Someone who’s seen the… Terran side of things.”</p><p> </p><p>Dukat seemed to consider this for a moment, regarding Julian with a look the doctor couldn’t quite place. In a way it reminded Julian of the way Garak—<em>his </em>Garak—would look at him sometimes during one of their lunchtime conversations, when Julian had said something that must have piqued Garak’s interest, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe it was just a Cardassian thing. Whatever it was, it was enough to make Julian want to squirm under the intensity of Dukat’s gaze.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Julian said finally, unable to take it any longer. He sat up fully, crossing his legs underneath him so that they were facing each other, knees nearly touching.</p><p> </p><p>“You Terrans are a bizarre species,” Dukat mused. It was the most straightforward thing he’d said all night.</p><p> </p><p>Julian frowned. “I don’t understand.”</p><p> </p><p>“A Cardassian battalion knows when they’re beaten. If there’s no way to advance, they fall back and regroup. Klingons will simply resort to standing their ground and fighting to the death when they’re cornered. But Terrans…” Dukat gestured vaguely with one long-fingered hand. “Even when you’re outnumbered and outmatched, you’re always finding another way ahead.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian felt flustered somehow, mentally flailing for a response. “Well, it’s better than rolling over and… and giving up.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian didn’t realize how drunk he was until he tried to stand up and found his balance nearly nonexistent, the room seeming to tilt around him. The room was so dimly lit that Julian forgot the difference between up and down until he was already falling, and a pair of strong arms caught him before he could topple onto the floor.</p><p> </p><p>While Julian didn’t weigh much, it was enough to send the two of them stumbling back into the couch, tipsy as they both were. Julian felt floaty and uncoordinated, and he ended up in a boneless heap in Dukat’s lap, the two of them chest-to-chest with Dukat’s arm wrapped almost protectively around Julian’s waist.</p><p> </p><p>He felt Dukat stiffen underneath him, sinewy muscles tensing up, and for a brief moment Julian wondered whether he was about to be shoved onto the floor. But he wasn’t. Instead, he felt Dukat let out a quiet, shaky breath.</p><p> </p><p>Concerned, Julian managed to shift himself so that they were facing each other, placing his hands on Dukat’s shoulders for balance. “Are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Dukat’s hands had slid to Julian’s sides, as though to steady him. His one blue eye was sort of hazy as he met Julian’s gaze, and Julian guessed that meant he was a little drunk, too.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re so… warm,” Dukat said at last, his voice low and raspy.</p><p> </p><p>He was, Julian realized, nearly feverishly so, and his eyelids fluttered as he felt the coolness of Dukat’s palm come to rest against his cheek, leaning into the touch with a little gasp. The air felt so warm, the portable heat source seeming to overpower the room, and Julian felt flushed and warm, but the touch of Dukat’s smooth scales was blissfully cool.</p><p> </p><p>“Please,” Julian whispered, hardly even aware of what he was asking for. His hands slid up to touch Dukat’s neck ridges, and the startled, pleasured hiss that came from him sent a flicker of heat through Julian’s lower belly. The hand on Julian’s hip was gripping tight enough that he could feel the prick of claws against his skin, and it made him want more.</p><p> </p><p>Julian wasn’t sure when he made the decision to kiss Dukat, only that he did, and the way that cool hand moved to grip the back of his neck as their lips met was even more intoxicating. He was warmer inside, Julian thought distantly. Dukat’s scales were cool, but his mouth was warm, and Julian eagerly opened up when that slightly rough tongue swiped at his lower lip.</p><p> </p><p>They pulled apart when Julian finally remembered that he needed to breathe, but they stayed close, panting softly with their foreheads pressed together. Julian could feel the bony protrusion on the Cardassian’s forehead, the hand stroking his soft throat.</p><p> </p><p>Julian shifted and sat back, just a little, so that he could look into Dukat’s eyes, one dark blue and one milky white. “What happens if the mission doesn’t succeed?” he asked in barely more than a whisper, feeling breathless. “What if we’re captured?” The thought was nearly too much to bear.</p><p> </p><p>Dukat’s intense gaze never wavered, not for a second. “Then, my dear doctor,” he breathed, “I promise I will make it quick for you.” The claw-tip of Dukat’s thumb pressed ever so lightly against the vulnerable skin of Julian’s throat, just under his jaw, soft as a lover’s caress.</p><p> </p><p>It was all the reassurance Julian needed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Requiem</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is the sexy chapter, in case you're wondering. </p><p>Also, Cardassian anatomy in this fic is based on my own personal theory that all Cardassians can both impregnate and be impregnated, so all of them have both a cloaca and a penis (which is internal until arousal).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was all the reassurance Julian needed.</p><p> </p><p>He freed one hand and, in a moment of unusual tenderness, traced the scar over Dukat’s eye with delicate surgeon’s fingers. A moment passed between them—silent, unspoken—and Julian wasn’t sure there were words in Standard or Kardasi or any other language to describe it. Julian nearly trembled with it, that aching need to be touched, for something to fill the hollow places inside him, and knowing it was reciprocated.</p><p> </p><p>Julian leaned down to mouth at Dukat’s neck ridge, and the arch of Dukat’s sinewy body beneath him, the way claws dug into his hip hard enough to draw blood, was entirely worth it. He let his tongue trace the three parallel scars there, then went lower to nip at the cartilaginous ridge with his teeth. When he reached a particular scale, biting just right, the shuddering, breathy moan he got in response was enough to send a heady throb of arousal straight to his groin.</p><p> </p><p>When they kissed again it was nearly feverish, Julian gasping and moaning softly when his shirt rode up and Dukat’s hands were all over him, trying to soak up more of his human warmth. Julian’s pants were quickly becoming far too restrictive for his liking, and he rubbed himself up against Dukat’s taut stomach, grinding their hips together as best he could while he was straddling the Cardassian’s thighs.</p><p> </p><p>“Hold on,” Julian murmured, pulling back so that he could rid himself of his now-constricting undershirt first. Somehow getting it off seemed more complicated than usual, and he found himself stuck for a moment until Dukat lifted the shirt over his head, mussing Julian’s hair wildly in the process.</p><p> </p><p>Julian sighed in relief, starting on his uniform trousers. Curious, Dukat’s hand came up to palm the bulge, and the exploratory squeeze had Julian’s hips bucking into that pressure.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re certainly eager,” Dukat remarked, amused.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re damn right I am,” Julian said, too worked up and too drunk to mince words about it. He pawed at Dukat’s chest, impatient. “C’mon, I can’t be the only one naked here.”</p><p> </p><p>Dukat indulged his demands, stripping off his layers and letting Julian run his hands over his scales in fascination. And Julian was indeed fascinated. Cardassians had none of the familiar mammalian features like nipples or bellybuttons, but Dukat’s belly was covered by softer scales not unlike those on the palms of his hands. His back was rough and armored, with a ridge of scales that followed the line of his spine. Julian was particularly enthused with the spoon-shaped protrusion on his upper chest and between his hips, echoing the one on his forehead.</p><p> </p><p>Dukat gave a low chuckle, and Julian could feel the sound vibrate in his chest. “You act like you’ve never seen a Cardassian before.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not like this, I haven’t,” Julian admitted. He’d imagined it more times than he’d care to say, though certainly not in such a scenario as this.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll admit that I’ve never seen a Terran in… such a state before,” Dukat said while his hands roved over the expanse of Julian’s bare chest and back.</p><p> </p><p>Julian shivered pleasantly at the drag of Dukat’s claws along his back, not enough to draw blood but enough to make Julian arch into the touch. “You never did this with him?” he panted. “The other me?” He didn’t know why he was even asking—the prospect seemed utterly outlandish—but perhaps some part of him wondered if his mirror counterpart shared any of his tastes.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course not. I find you decidedly more… pleasant, Doctor.” Dukat thumbed over one of Julian’s dusky brown nipples, apparently having figured out that they were a sensitive spot, and was pleased to see the human’s eyelids flutter.</p><p> </p><p>It took a bit of drunken fumbling, but Julian was determined to finally get his pants all the way off—likely not without a few tears in the fabric from Dukat’s claws as they worked in tandem to tug the fabric down his long legs.</p><p> </p><p>“Julian.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hm?”</p><p> </p><p>“I want you to call me Julian,” the doctor insisted, and felt his cheeks grow hot again for some reason, feeling more naked than he already was.</p><p> </p><p>Dukat seemed to consider this for a moment, a thoughtful hum vibrating through his chest. “Very well then. Julian,” he said, in that low, throaty way that made the doctor shiver pleasantly. “I suppose you ought to call me Skrain.”</p><p> </p><p>For some reason it hadn’t even occurred to Julian that Dukat had a first name. He didn’t even call Garak by his first name—it was an intimate thing among Cardassians, as Julian understood it. It felt more intimate, more vulnerable even than their exposed skin and scales.</p><p> </p><p>Julian knew there was a very good chance they were going to die when they set foot on Terok Nor. The Alliance had the upper hand in every way—the rebels’ chances of success were slim to none, and the Intendant would dispatch them mercilessly if they were caught. Julian knew that all too well.</p><p> </p><p>He decided that this was the moment he would take with him to the end, carefully tucked away in his perfect memory, if he was to meet such an end. He would have that much, at least; perhaps some kind of recompense for opportunities lost in his own universe.</p><p> </p><p>“Skrain,” he whispered, and hoped his hips would bruise with how tightly Dukat was holding him.</p><p> </p><p>It took several minutes, but finally they were both completely naked and Julian was so <em>wanting...</em> He reached down to give himself a few cursory strokes. Julian’s breath hitched when Dukat’s larger hand settled over his, entranced by the tug and slide of the silky warm skin.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, <em>fuck</em>,” Julian breathed. He reached between the Cardassian’s legs to return the favor, only to find… well, he wasn’t sure.</p><p> </p><p>Julian didn’t really know what to expect; he had no experience with Cardassian anatomy whatsoever. Not even medical textbooks had prepared him for this. Cardassians were notoriously tight-lipped with information, even about the basics of their species. He’d wanted to ask Garak at some point, but he’d never found an appropriate time to do so. (How did one casually ask a friend about their genitals?)</p><p> </p><p>Julian shifted a bit to get a better look, and blinked. There was a wet slit between Dukat’s legs, its microscaled lips dark and swollen with arousal. It seemed quite well-lubricated, slick glistening from between its folds and smearing on his thighs.</p><p> </p><p>Julian had learned from his time studying comparative anatomy at Starfleet Medical that the known humanoid species, with regards to their genitalia, could be divided roughly into “innies” and “outies”—categories not restricted to any particular gender (or lack thereof). There were, of course, exceptions in some species, but it was a good rule of thumb, insomuch as individuals of the “innie” variety oftentimes had more complex needs with regards to reproductive health. Humans, or at least most human males, were squarely in the “outie” group. Cardassians, apparently, were “innies.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian’s cheeks flushed, and he opened his mouth to ask the obvious question, but it wasn’t necessary.</p><p> </p><p>In response, Dukat reached down and used two fingers to spread the lips of his genital slit. (Now Julian understood why he kept the claws on his first two fingers short and blunt). He sighed softly and slid those two fingers a bit further down, dipping into his slick opening a few times before coming back up to massage the swollen tissue nearer to the apex of the slit. </p><p> </p><p>Within moments his cock pushed out of its internal sheath, and Dukat looked thoroughly pleased with himself upon seeing the wide-eyed look on Julian’s face. The pale blue shaft was roughly similar in dimension to a human, though its ridged length and elegantly tapered, bifurcated head were alien, all slick and wet and glistening. It was somewhat thicker at the base, where a set of darker ridges bracketed the length.</p><p> </p><p>Julian knew immediately that he wanted it inside of him.</p><p> </p><p>He fully expected it to hurt, given his own lack of preparation. And he <em>wanted </em>it to hurt at least some, just so he would have something to remind him that this was real. The copious self-lubrication of Cardassian males proved to be something of a blessing, allowing Julian to use the excess to slick a few fingers and do the bare minimum of prep before he sank down on that thick, slippery alien shaft.</p><p> </p><p>There were some things having an enhanced body was good for, Julian thought, even as he gasped in a mixture of pleasure and pain, feeling overwhelmed at first. Those last couple inches were difficult, and his thighs trembled even as Dukat steadied him. The stretch hurt, though he wasn’t sure if it was better or worse than he remembered (it had been a while), and he found himself with his arms wrapped around Dukat’s long neck, panting into one of those elegantly sloped ridges as he tried to catch his breath.</p><p> </p><p>Julian let out a helpless, trembling moan when he was finally able to take the last inch, stretched wide and stuffed full. Oh, it was good, it was <em>so </em>good, pain and pleasure both. Dukat shifted inside him, and Julian yelped, wordlessly pleading for another minute to adjust.</p><p> </p><p>Dukat let him, keeping Julian distracted with the caress of his hands, which seemed determine to map every inch of Julian’s bare skin, from the swell of his ass to the ridge of his spine to the trembling muscles of his back and shoulders. “You’re so hot inside,” he said against Julian’s neck, voice low and husky with arousal. “Tell me how good it feels.”</p><p> </p><p>He should have known that Dukat would be a talker during sex. Some things never changed, and apparently Dukat loved the sound of his own voice in any universe. Julian could barely think straight, his brain abuzz with endorphins, his usual eloquence lost. “It’s—it’s good. Hurts,” he panted, “but hurts so—<em>ah!</em>—<em>so </em>good…!” A slight shift in their enjoined position was enough to press against that spot that felt <em>wonderful </em>inside him.</p><p> </p><p>He felt rather than heard the rumble of Dukat’s chuckle. “I didn’t think you’d be one for pain,” said Dukat, starting to sound breathless himself. He shifted experimentally inside Julian, feeling that tight heat contract beautifully around his cock, then hissed in both pleasure and pain at the sensation of Julian’s teeth in his neck ridge.</p><p> </p><p>The balance was starting to tip towards more pleasure than pain, and Julian rolled his hips, letting out a trembling, pleasured sigh. “I’ve been known to surprise.” The light, playful edge to his voice surprised even himself.</p><p> </p><p>The sound that came from Dukat was almost like a low, rumbling purr, a sound Julian hadn’t even known Cardassians could make. “I shall endeavor not to underestimate you again.”</p><p> </p><p>The room felt so hot that Julian was sweating, but he didn’t care, sinking himself entirely into the sensation of being held and filled. He let his world narrow to that smooth in-and-out pace, punctuated with a rubbing, grinding motion of their hips that kept him entirely occupied with shock after shock of pleasure edged with pain.</p><p> </p><p>When Julian’s thigh muscles burned with exertion and he could no longer keep pace with Dukat’s thrusts, he lay limp and panting as the Cardassian laid him down on the couch and made to enter him again.<br/><br/></p><p>“No, no, wait,” Julian panted. The upholstery felt unbearably sticky against his back, and he maneuvered himself onto his elbows and knees, spreading his legs and looking over his shoulder with half-lidded eyes. “I want it like this.”</p><p> </p><p>“My dear Julian,” said Dukat in that low, desirous tone, the words sending sparks of heat through Julian’s belly, “you truly are one of a kind.”</p><p> </p><p>It was better this way, Julian thought. The angle was deeper, better, and he could close his eyes and let himself be caught up in the pleasure and pain, with Dukat’s scaly body draped over him like a blanket and one arm wrapped around him in an embrace.</p><p> </p><p>The rub of that ridged cock against Julian’s prostate was nearly maddening, and when he reached between his legs to finish himself off, it took only a few strokes to bring himself to a shuddering orgasm that made his legs tremble so hard he feared he might collapse.</p><p> </p><p>Julian let himself drift in the orgasmic haze until Dukat was finished not too long after, and he didn’t even have the energy to complain when the Cardassian came inside him. Right now, he didn’t care. They remained joined like that for what felt like a short eternity, sleepy and sated, and Julian tried to hold onto that feeling.</p><p> </p><p>Finally Dukat slid out of him and sighed contentedly. He gathered Julian against his chest as they laid together on their sides, evidently still seeking his mammalian warmth.</p><p> </p><p>Julian couldn’t say he minded, even though it meant he was still laying in his own tacky fluids. The relative coolness of Dukat’s scales against the heated skin of his back was a welcome one, and he felt like he could fall into the abyss of sleep right then and there despite being in desperate need of a good shower. Distantly, he heard the fusion generator kick back on with its low, barely audible hum, and even though this meant that the sonic shower facilities would be operational again, the idea of moving from this spot sounded like a momentous effort.</p><p> </p><p>Julian didn’t protest the closeness, even though some distant rational part of him was saying that he shouldn’t stay. Ziyal was in the other room, and that was a walk of shame he did not want to make. Besides, he probably wasn’t going to find a better place to sleep than this. He was vaguely surprised that Dukat hadn’t started talking again, but he knew better than to push his luck by bringing it up. Instead Julian simply closed his eyes and let himself start to drift off.</p><p> </p><p>That was, of course, when Dukat’s com bracelet beeped from somewhere on the floor.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Dax to Dukat,” </em>came a familiar voice.</p><p> </p><p>It took a moment, but Dukat grumbled incoherently—apparently he’d been asleep, or at least close to it. He reached over Julian and blindly searched the floor until he found the device, snagging it with one claw.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes?” he said, sounding annoyed.</p><p> </p><p><em>“The Alliance ships have passed out of range, and I’ve restarted some of the system functions so I can bring up those schematics,” </em>Dax relayed. <em>“We need you in Ops.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Dukat sighed. Julian thought he sounded profoundly irritated, but he didn’t comment. “I’ll be there.” He clicked a button to end the transmission and promptly tossed the com bracelet back onto the floor.</p><p> </p><p>The regular lights were back on, dim though they were, Julian noticed when he opened his eyes, and he had to squint for a moment to adjust.</p><p> </p><p>Dukat sat up and gave Julian’s thigh a cursory pat before he began to collect his clothes. “You can stay here and get cleaned up. I trust you can locate the sonic shower facilities. I’ll be in Operations when you’re finished.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian didn’t have to read between the lines to know what that meant. He could imagine that the two of them walking in together would look strange. Still, he almost wished Dukat wouldn’t go. Almost.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright,” was all Julian could think to say, wincing as he sat up. He certainly might need a minute for the soreness to abate.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t miss the self-satisfied little smile on Dukat’s face, if only for a moment. Julian pointedly decided not to mention the visible bruise in the shape of human teeth marks left on Dukat’s neck ridge. If this Dukat was anything like his counterpart in the other universe, he’d be utterly shameless about it, but it would be worth it to hear Dax needle him about it.</p><p> </p><p>Now dressed, Dukat headed for the door with military brusqueness.</p><p> </p><p>“Hold on,” Julian said, and Dukat paused, glancing curiously over his shoulder. Julian tossed him the previously discarded com bracelet. “You might need this.”</p><p> </p><p>Dukat regarded the device for a moment, as though it were something novel, then slipped it onto his fine-boned wrist. He made to leave again, the doors hissing open, then paused in the middle of the exit.</p><p> </p><p>“For what it’s worth, Doctor,” he said finally, “I do hope you survive this mission.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Reflection</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Captain Julian Bashir came awake all at once, instantly alert, on the floor of someplace distinctly unfamiliar. He jolted and immediately pressed his back up against the wall, grasping the phaser at his hip on instinct. He scanned the room, hardly daring to breathe. He knew the sterile, antiseptic smell of an infirmary in the same way a lab rat did—and knew what followed, always. He was prepared for a fight. Strangely, none came.</p><p> </p><p>The room stayed quiet. There was no one that he could hear or see. He was alone, at least for the moment. Relaxing minutely, Bashir looked around the room and realized it was an office of some sort. There was a computer console with a desk chair, a wall of data files on every possible subject.</p><p> </p><p>There was no way this was Empok Nor, the floating scrap heap where he’d been what felt like just moments before.</p><p> </p><p>That meant… Bashir felt his stomach twist with dread. Had he somehow been captured again by the Alliance? If this was Terok Nor, then he was as good as dead. Worse, if the Intendant and her sadistic interrogator got their hands on him. That meant he had to get out of here, and soon. But why would they stick him here, in a medical office of some sort, rather than in a holding cell? He couldn’t come up with a satisfactory explanation, but he wasn’t going to stick around and find out.</p><p> </p><p>There were two doors in the room, which was apparently an office of some sort in the infirmary. The one on the right, near the computer console, was locked, labeled as a storage closet of some sort—likely for medicines. It was a shame, really. Bashir would have rather liked to get his hands on some tranquilizers.</p><p> </p><p>The other door, to his surprise, opened before he even approached it.</p><p> </p><p>A Bajoran woman, a nurse if her uniform was anything to go by, came into the room and paused. She looked surprised to see him. “Doctor?” she asked, uncertain.</p><p> </p><p>Bashir didn’t bother with a response. A quick shot from the phaser stunned her before she could speak again, and she collapsed to the floor in a heap.</p><p> </p><p>He pressed himself up against the wall next to the door, heart pounding, waiting for a pair of Klingon guards to burst in. He figured he could take at least one of them by surprise, and if he was quick enough, he could keep enough distance between himself and the second one to maybe stun the bastard.</p><p> </p><p>But no one came in. There were no alarms, no anesthetic gas flooding the room.</p><p> </p><p>Bashir was starting to get impatient. What the hell were they waiting for? Trying to psych him out?</p><p> </p><p>After a few long, tense minutes passed without incident, Bashir couldn’t take it anymore. Something was wrong here.</p><p> </p><p>Steeling himself and keeping his phaser at the ready, Bashir stepped out of the infirmary, prepared to be ambushed. But again, none came. In fact, the people who were walking past didn’t really pay him any mind.</p><p> </p><p>Not far away, he spotted the Security Office, where he knew Odo could often be found, and quickly ducked his head and kept walking. Odo was usually making rounds in ore processing around this time, but one could never be too careful with the shapeshifter. He tried to blend in with the crowd, not looking at anyone except to follow where their shoes were going. The corridor soon let out into the Promenade, and Bashir could only stare.</p><p> </p><p>The place was much brighter than Bashir remembered. Actually, it all looked very different from how he remembered it. There were no Klingons loitering at every corner, harassing Terran slaves who were carrying messages or on other work details. There was no Alliance banner hanging from the upper level of the Promenade. Quark’s bar was still there, but it was a lively, thriving place, not the gloomy drinking hole Bashir remembered from his time on Terok Nor.</p><p> </p><p>More than that, he looked at some of the faces passing by and realized that not all of them were Bajorans. In fact, many of them were Terrans! They wore a strange uniform, one Bashir had never seen before, mostly black and gray with a contrastingly colored undershirt in one of apparently three colors. Most wore yellow, but he could spot blue and red in the crowd as well.</p><p> </p><p>He could hardly believe his eyes. Terrans! And they were mixing in the crowd with Bajorans, who wore a different sort of uniform, but it certainly wasn’t Alliance standard. Among both the Terrans and Bajorans, there were a number of non-uniformed personnel as well. It was no wonder no one was paying much attention to him. Slowly, he holstered his phaser.</p><p> </p><p>Something clicked in Bashir’s genetically enhanced brain just then. No, it couldn’t be… but it had to. It was the only explanation. So this was the other side of the looking glass… the mirror universe from which the alternate Captain Sisko had come. Oh, Smiley had denied it at first, but Bashir had got the truth out of him easily enough once he applied a little pressure. Smiley always caved under pressure; he was easy that way.</p><p> </p><p>Bashir had always wondered what the other universe was like. In any case, it had to be better than the one he’d come from. Looking around the Promenade, he observed that the shops were open and occupied by various storekeepers—a jeweler, a cobbler, a confectioner, many restaurants of a variety of cuisines. There were people milling about in relative calm, and not just uniformed service members. There were children and families about, Bajoran and Terran alike. A good number of other aliens were present as well, Bolians and Vulcans and species Bashir had never even seen before.</p><p> </p><p>For a few moments Bashir forgot himself, standing there in the middle of the crowd as he tried to take it all in. Here, he was <em>free. </em></p><p> </p><p>So enraptured was he in this newfound realization that he barely noticed someone approach him from the right.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, there you are, Doctor. I see your little excursion in the holosuite with Chief O’Brien must have run late.”</p><p> </p><p>Bashir startled, and he very nearly reached for his phaser again when he saw the Cardassian standing there, apparently addressing <em>him </em>of all people. He looked left and right with wide eyes, searching for some kind of reaction from the people around him. There was a bloody Cardassian standing there talking to him, for heaven’s sake! And what the hell was he talking about?</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps this was a normal occurrence in this universe, on this Terok Nor? Bashir had no idea how. He eyed the Cardassian suspiciously, noting that he wore no uniform, only an exceedingly tacky patterned tunic with equally tacky trousers.</p><p> </p><p>“What the hell do you want?” Bashir said finally, unsettled.</p><p> </p><p>The Cardassian blinked. “Doctor, we <em>did </em>agree to have lunch at this time, if you remember,” he said with wide blue eyes, feigning innocence, or at the very least nonchalance. “We were going to discuss <em>The Picture of Dorian Gray. </em>Unless, of course, you would like to reschedule.”</p><p> </p><p>That was when it clicked for Bashir. He knew that voice, that face. Sure, he wasn’t wearing the uniform, or giving terse advice to the Intendant in the form of either thinly veiled threats or obsequious flattery, but he would know the infamous Gul Garak anywhere. He felt his hackles rising, and the rage he normally kept chained up inside him surged up like a storm.</p><p> </p><p>Garak actually looked concerned, placing a hand on Bashir’s forearm. “Doctor, are you quite alright?”</p><p> </p><p>“Get away from me, you filthy Cardie!” Bashir spat, yanking his arm away. How <em>dare </em>that coldblooded savage lay hands on him and act like it was anything but a precursor to violence.</p><p> </p><p>For a split second, a look of utter shock passed over Garak’s features. But the mask of cool bemusement was back in an instant, and he glanced left and right. People were starting to stare. “Doctor, I think that this is perhaps not the time or place for—”</p><p> </p><p>Bashir didn’t bother to listen. Vaguely, he knew that he was making a scene. He didn’t care. The vicious rage flared inside him again, and his body seemed to move of its own accord, possessed by anger.</p><p> </p><p>He hardly realized what he’d done until he saw Garak sprawled on the floor in front of him, dazed. The Cardassian’s lower lip was split and bleeding. Bashir’s knuckles ached.</p><p> </p><p>The crowd around them had gone very quiet.</p><p> </p><p>What surprised Bashir the most was the look of brief, genuine hurt on Garak’s face. Betrayal. He’d never seen that look on Garak’s face before. It made something inside Bashir squirm with a sensation uncomfortably close to guilt. Pity would be a better word for it, he thought.</p><p> </p><p>It made him angry. Being angry always made him want to hurt someone. He didn’t see any reason to deny himself that.</p><p> </p><p>He kicked Garak viciously in the stomach, feeling a rush of vindictive satisfaction at the way the Cardassian grunted and curled up to protect his midsection. He rolled Garak onto his back with a shove from his boot, then placed said boot against Garak’s neck—hard enough to threaten, but not to choke.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you ever touch me again, spoonhead,” Bashir said coldly, staring into Garak’s blue eyes to make sure he got the message.</p><p> </p><p>From the crowd, a Bajoran man let out a whoop of approval, only to be angrily shushed by his wife. There was a smattering of applause.</p><p> </p><p>The look in Garak’s eyes was unreadable. Bashir knew he’d probably regret not killing the bastard, but the rage inside of him had cooled somewhat, and he wasn’t interested in causing a panic in front of all these people.</p><p> </p><p>He was ready to walk away, but a tight grip on his shoulder yanked him back a step, pulling him away from Garak.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, break it up,” commanded Odo’s gravelly voice. He looked around to address the crowd. “That means all of you, too. Go on, there’s nothing to see here.” Murmuring, the crowd began to disperse after a moment’s hesitation, exchanging glances amongst themselves before going back to their shopping and their lunch.</p><p> </p><p>Bashir scowled and tried to pull away, but Odo’s grip was like iron. “Not you. You’re coming with me, Doctor,” said the shapeshifter, giving him a stern look. He glanced over his shoulder. “Garak, can I assume that you can get yourself to the infirmary to see Nurse Jabara?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, that won’t be necessary. I’m quite alright,” Garak said lightly as he picked himself up off the floor, delicately patting his bleeding lip with a handkerchief from his pocket. His hands shook almost imperceptibly. “Cardassians have very thick skulls, you know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Indeed they do,” Odo grunted.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Bashir paced irritably back and forth in the holding cell, occasionally glaring daggers at Odo, who was watching him with crossed arms. He had been standing there for fifteen minutes like that, not moving, and it was starting to grate on Bashir’s nerves.</p><p> </p><p>“What the hell are <em>you </em>looking at?” Bashir challenged. He knew there was no chance of antagonizing Odo into leaving him alone, but still he felt compelled to try. “That Cardie had it coming.”</p><p> </p><p>Odo harrumphed. “<em>You’re </em>not Doctor Bashir.”</p><p> </p><p>“How astute of you to notice that <em>I’m</em>not a doctor,” Bashir said sarcastically, his arms spread wide. He didn’t know why the hell everyone kept addressing him as ‘Doctor.’ He’d never even heard of a Terran doctor before! Doctor Moset had said once that they simply weren’t made for it. Granted, that had been while he was elbow-deep in Bashir’s abdominal cavity, and it was a long time ago, so perhaps the memory was a little distorted, but the message had stuck.</p><p> </p><p>Bashir hated doctors, frankly. They brought nothing but pain—at least if you were a Terran. Again, he dared to wonder if perhaps things were different in this universe.</p><p> </p><p>Then, Odo simply walked away. Bashir’s eyes widened, and he banged on the wall next to the forcefield. “Hey! Where are you going?!”</p><p> </p><p>But Odo didn’t stop, or even look back. The doors to the holding area slid shut behind him. Bashir was left alone, and he sighed irritably. Well, at least now he had time to figure a way out of here.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Captain Sisko’s brow furrowed more deeply the longer he listened to Odo’s explanation. He picked up the baseball that sat on his desk, turning it absently in one hand.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re certain he’s from the mirror universe?”</p><p> </p><p>Odo scoffed. “I’m certain. Unless Doctor Bashir has undergone a radical change in personality and hygiene in the last six hours. This man appears to be a perfect duplicate, but he is decidedly not Doctor Bashir.”</p><p> </p><p>Sisko sighed. “Any ideas as to how he got here? Or how he got on the station?”</p><p> </p><p>“Chief O’Brien is looking into it.” In fact, Odo had asked O’Brien to meet him in Ops to see the captain, but he had yet to appear. “I’ve checked all the passenger manifests on the ships that have docked in the past two days, and those people are all accounted for.”</p><p> </p><p>Sisko nodded slowly, taking all this in. His expression was grim. “Where is Bashir now?”</p><p> </p><p>“In a holding cell, thankfully,” Odo said wryly.</p><p> </p><p>Sisko frowned. “On what charges?”</p><p> </p><p>“Breaking and entering, and assault,” Odo reported, crossing his arms.</p><p> </p><p>Sisko’s expression begged an explanation.</p><p> </p><p>“If you don’t believe me, Captain, you can ask him yourself. He’ll admit to it,” Odo said with clear disdain. “He stunned Nurse Jabara with a phaser—by her own report—apparently after breaking into the infirmary. Then he attacked Mister Garak in the middle of the Promenade.”</p><p> </p><p>Sisko’s eyebrows went up in surprise. He gestured vaguely with the baseball in his hand. “I believe you, Constable. It’s just hard to imagine Doctor Bashir behaving in that way.”</p><p> </p><p>“With respect, Captain, this is <em>not </em>Doctor Bashir we are dealing with,” Odo said, and he didn’t sound pleased about it. “This is an unruly desperado with demonstrated violent tendencies, one who happens to look like Doctor Bashir.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Sisko said calmly. “I’ve met him.”</p><p> </p><p>Odo looked surprised, but only for a moment. “Of course,” he demurred. “Your trip to the mirror universe.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Sisko said, steepling his fingers. He remembered that place all too well, and he couldn’t say he blamed Bashir’s doppelganger for being the way he was. Wouldn’t anyone be, after a life full of nothing but war and slavery? He stood up, replacing the baseball in its usual nook on the desk.</p><p> </p><p>He straightened his uniform and headed for the door. “I think it’s time I paid our guest a visit.”</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Bashir swore under his breath when he heard the doors to the holding area slide open. He hadn’t even had time to pry off the wall panel so he could get to work on short-circuiting the forcefield. Instead he sat back on the bench in the cell, knees ambivalently spread, arms crossed.</p><p> </p><p>He grinned when he saw Captain Sisko, who came to stand in front of his cell, accompanied by Odo.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, well, if it isn’t Benjamin Sisko,” he said, only partially mocking. “I suppose you’re in charge of this Terok Nor? Figures.” Of course he was, the prick. Bashir never could get Sisko to stay off his case, even in the rebellion.</p><p> </p><p>But this man was calm and composed, hands clasped behind his back, with none of the feral viciousness and lust for violence that Bashir was used to seeing from Ben Sisko. He was wearing one of those uniforms, with the red undershirt.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s Deep Space Nine, here,” Sisko informed him, unruffled. “And yes, I am. But I’m not the Benjamin Sisko you know.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know. Still, we’ve met.”</p><p> </p><p>It was gratifying to see the momentary surprise that passed over Sisko’s features. “And what makes you think that?” he asked, carefully neutral.</p><p> </p><p>Bashir snorted. “Smiley O’Brien can’t keep a secret to save his life. Well, actually, that’s about the only way he’ll keep a secret. But my point stands.”</p><p> </p><p>Sisko exchanged glances with Odo. “Then you know what this is about,” he said simply.</p><p> </p><p>“Actually, I don’t.” Bashir crossed his arms, glaring. “I don’t know what this all has to do with you. I end up here somehow, trying to mind my own business, and then get arrested for rightfully defending myself against some Cardassian pervert with awful taste in clothes.” He paused, nose wrinkling in disgust. “Don’t tell me you’ve allied yourselves with the Cardies in this universe. They’re as bad as the Klingons.”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Sisko said patiently. “We aren’t allies. But Mister Garak is a special case. And I can’t abide you attacking anyone on my station.”</p><p> </p><p>Odo leveled Bashir with a withering stare. “You call assaulting two people ‘minding your own business?’” He sounded unimpressed.</p><p> </p><p>“Can you really blame me?” Bashir sniped.</p><p> </p><p>“For stunning an innocent woman and then starting an unprovoked physical altercation? Yes, I can,” Odo growled.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, <em>I </em>didn’t start—!”</p><p> </p><p>“We are <em>not </em>here to talk about who started what!” Sisko interrupted sharply. “Let’s return to the issue at hand, shall we?”</p><p> </p><p>Bashir spread his arms wide. “By all means. Let me out of here and I’ll be on the next ship off this junk heap,” he said simply. “I’ll be out of your hair.”</p><p> </p><p>Sisko pinned him with a sharp look. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple. I need some information from you, Mister Bashir.”</p><p> </p><p>Bashir grinned savagely. “Oh, do you? Is this the part where you interrogate me? Well, do get on with it,” he taunted. “Let’s see if you’re half as good as the old Ben Sisko. I bet Garak could give you a few pointers. He did a hell of a job the first time we met.”</p><p> </p><p>Sisko’s jaw was tight, but his voice was level. “We don’t do that here. All I need to know is how you got here, and where our Doctor Bashir went.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s so important about that?” Bashir asked, mulish.</p><p> </p><p>Just then Sisko’s combadge chirped. <em>“O’Brien to Sisko.”</em></p><p> </p><p>Sisko stood back a step, sighing. “Yes, Chief?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I think I’ve pinpointed it, sir. That temporospatial anomaly we picked up out in space yesterday—it had been appearing and disappearing at random points, getting closer and closer to our coordinates. And I’ve just finished going over the internal sensor logs, which show the same energy readings from the anomaly were picked up just this morning in the infirmary.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Things were starting to come together. “Thank you, Chief. Stand by.” He tapped his combadge again, making eye contact with Bashir.</p><p> </p><p>“Sound familiar?”</p><p> </p><p>Bashir looked reluctant, but not for long. “If you mean that burst of white light coming from some kind of hole in the fabric of reality, sure,” he said with a shrug. “I was in my own universe, minding my own damn business, when this thing opened up and… well, you know the rest.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you found yourself where?” Sisko pressed.</p><p> </p><p>“I dunno, in someone’s office, I guess. It was in the infirmary,” Bashir said irritably.</p><p> </p><p>“That still leaves the question of where our Doctor Bashir ended up,” Odo pointed out.</p><p> </p><p>“I have a hunch,” Sisko said, before Bashir could vehemently deny anything. “Computer, locate Doctor Bashir.”</p><p> </p><p><em>“Doctor Bashir is in Holding Cell 3,” </em>said the computer’s brusque monotone.</p><p> </p><p>Sisko gave a thoughtful nod. “Alright, Computer, now tell me this: where was Doctor Bashir when the temporospatial energy readings were detected on this station?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Doctor Bashir was in medical office 1A in the infirmary during the specified time.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“And where were those temporospatial energy readings detected?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“In medical office 1A in the infirmary.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Sisko nodded again. “Now things are starting to add up.”</p><p> </p><p>Odo nodded in agreement. “And the anomaly could have opened a hole between our two universes,” he concluded. “We ended up with this Julian Bashir…”</p><p> </p><p>“…which means our Julian Bashir is somewhere in the mirror universe,” Sisko finished. “A perfect switch, from one side of the mirror to the other.”</p><p> </p><p>“Looks like I got to be the lucky one for once,” Bashir remarked, pleased. He sat back against the wall, arms crossed. “You can’t send me back. You don’t have the technology. Nobody does.”</p><p> </p><p>“Unfortunately, he’s right, Captain,” Odo admitted. “Unless there’s something I don’t know.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, you’re both right,” Sisko said with a grimace. “And we can’t force him to go anywhere.”</p><p> </p><p>Odo didn’t look particularly pleased with this, but he said nothing.</p><p> </p><p>“Trust me, it’s better this way,” Bashir said with a snort. “You don’t want anything to do with that place.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’d imagine our Doctor Bashir wouldn’t agree,” Sisko said sharply. He turned to Odo. “Gather the senior staff in Ops. It’s time to put our heads together.”</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>O’Brien scratched at his head. “I don’t know,” he said, clearly reluctant.</p><p> </p><p>“All I want to know is if it’s possible, Chief,” Sisko said levelly, eyes on O’Brien from across the central computer console in Ops, where the senior staff was now gathered to discuss the situation.</p><p> </p><p>O’Brien sighed. “I mean, theoretically, yes, it’s possible,” he admitted, glancing around at the faces of the group. “But even if I somehow do manage to rework the transporter to send you into the mirror universe, you’ll be trapped there. Sure, I can probably get you there, but it’s getting back that’s the problem. Once you’ve transported to another universe, we can’t exactly get a lock on you.”</p><p> </p><p>“The O’Brien from that universe will know how,” Sisko said. “He did it once before.”</p><p> </p><p>“Perhaps he did it in the past, but that may not be possible anymore, if Mister Bashir is to be believed,” Odo cut in.</p><p> </p><p>Jadzia glanced left and right at her neighbors in the group. “Well, excuse my saying so, but it sounds like Bashir has a vested interest in staying here,” she pointed out. “And I can hardly blame him. He’d say anything to convince us that a trip to his universe is a lost cause.”</p><p> </p><p>“I agree,” Odo said with a glance at Dax. “We should be careful of how seriously we take his information.”</p><p> </p><p>“Even if you did get there, there’s no way of knowing where you’ll end up,” O’Brien protested, clearly not enthused about the idea.  “Or even if all your molecules rematerialize properly. I could beam you into empty space for all I know! Or into a solid object!”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that, Chief. When Kirk and his crew transported to the mirror universe the first time, they arrived without incident,” Sisko countered. “And that was entirely by accident.”</p><p> </p><p>“Exactly! By accident!” O’Brien said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I’m sorry, Captain, but I wouldn’t bet my life—or any of our lives—on an accident.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m willing to take that risk,” Kira said seriously. She and Julian had spent time in the mirror universe together, and she knew firsthand just what kind of a dark place it was. “I’ll go.”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Sisko said immediately. Kira opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand to stop her. “You’re too visible. Everyone knows the Intendant, and thanks to your previous trip to the mirror universe, everyone knows you, too.”</p><p> </p><p>Reluctantly, Kira backed down with a huff. She knew he was right. “It’s the same for you, though, Captain,” she pointed out, and Sisko couldn’t argue with her.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll go,” Jadzia volunteered, but Sisko immediately shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>“No, Dax, I’ve already met your counterpart. It’s too risky.”</p><p> </p><p>“A risky mission, indeed,” said a new voice, and every single head turned to stare at Garak, who had just stepped off the turbolift. “It sounds to me like you need someone who can blend in. Someone who can move freely on Terok Nor.”</p><p> </p><p>Garak approached the central console, stepping between Kira and Dax. He looked around at the circle of faces with those wide blue eyes of his, pausing for dramatic effect. “What you need... is a Cardassian.”</p><p> </p><p>Glances were exchanged among the senior staff. It was an idea. A good one. And maybe their only one, with the way the selection criteria was narrowing.</p><p> </p><p>“Garak, I can’t ask you to do that,” Sisko said. “You’re not under my command.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then what luck it is that you don’t have to ask me, Captain,” Garak said, his tone as artificially pleasant as ever. “I’m volunteering. You send me into the mirror universe, and I find a way to return with Doctor Bashir. If I succeed, then all is well. If I don’t, then you have lost only one valuable officer rather than two.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why?” O’Brien spoke up, a hard look on his face. He knew that Garak and Julian were friends, and he respected that, but he didn’t trust Garak. Not an inch.</p><p> </p><p>Garak smiled in that way that changed precisely nothing about the sharpness of his eyes. “Consider this a mission that I happen to be… uniquely qualified for.”</p><p> </p><p>Sisko raised an eyebrow. “Really? A Cardassian tailor, volunteering for a search-and-rescue mission in the territory of known hostile forces?”</p><p> </p><p>“Really, now, Captain, we all must have our hobbies.” If you didn’t know him, Garak could be very disarming, and his polite earnestness could almost be mistaken for the truth.</p><p> </p><p>Sisko considered it for a moment, glancing around at the faces of his senior staff. They seemed to be wrestling with the same dilemma. But what other choice did they have?</p><p> </p><p>“Very well then,” Sisko said finally. “Chief, get to work on that transporter. Garak, I expect you to be ready in an hour.”</p><p> </p><p>Garak’s veneer of politeness was probably meant to be pleasant but was rather more unsettling. “Captain, I have been ready for this my whole life.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Siege</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>“Rough night?”</p><p> </p><p>Julian couldn’t help but cringe at the sound of Ziyal’s voice from the doorway of the infirmary. He looked up from the floor sheepishly, knowing how ridiculous he must look, sitting there in nothing but his undershirt and Starfleet-issue briefs, his pants in his hands with a needle and thread. He had been hoping that no one would walk in needing medical care or something of the like while he was… otherwise occupied, but the door locks weren’t functioning in the infirmary, and apparently Julian was just unlucky.</p><p> </p><p>“You could say that,” Julian said awkwardly, acutely aware of his pants-less state. She was standing there with her arms crossed, observing his current predicament.</p><p> </p><p>Showing up to the meeting in Ops with several tears in the legs of his trousers had earned him a few strange looks, and he had been the subject of several sharply witty comments from Dax--after she was done needling Dukat about the teeth marks on his neck ridge.</p><p> </p><p>Julian had decided to try stitching up his torn pants with a needle and some surgical thread he’d found in the scattered supplies in the infirmary, but his technique left something to be desired. He’d only ever done stitches by hand in medical school, where it was more of an antiquated rite of passage than a truly useful technique. Why would anyone bother, when dermal regenerators were so much more effective and so commonplace as to be ubiquitous? </p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately, in any case, sewing fabric was not quite the same as stitching flesh. </p><p> </p><p>Ziyal crouched down next to him on the floor, her orbital ridges going up as she examined his handiwork. “Looks like you could use some help.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian’s cheeks felt hot. “I’ve never had to do this myself before,” he admitted lamely. Garak could probably do a fine job, he found himself thinking. He would have leapt at the chance for an excuse to visit Garak’s shop and have a little conversation with him, outside of their normal lunchtime discussions. </p><p> </p><p>Indeed, Garak seemed very far away now.</p><p> </p><p>He cleared his throat. “I’m a doctor, not a tailor,” he said, trying for a bit of humor.</p><p> </p><p>Ziyal actually smiled. “I can tell. Give it here.”</p><p> </p><p>He gladly handed over both the pants and the needle and thread, feeling idiotic but relieved.</p><p> </p><p>“You really did a number on these,” Ziyal commented innocuously, peering through one of the tears in the pant leg. She swiftly turned the pants inside out and lined up the seams after re-threading the needle.</p><p> </p><p>“Er, yeah,” Julian said with a nervous chuckle. He still didn’t know if she’d heard all of last night’s… activities. “Normally I would just put on my spare uniform, but…”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you’ve got to be more careful,” Ziyal said, her attention focused on the neat stitches she was putting into the torn fabric. “And be a little quieter about it next time, hm?”</p><p> </p><p>Certain that his cheeks were scarlet with heat, Julian glanced away awkwardly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”</p><p> </p><p>Thankfully, Ziyal saw fit to change the subject after that. “So, I hear you’re going on the mission to Terok Nor,” she commented. She had finished one pant leg and was starting on the other, the one with the three-inch tear that left a good bit of Julian’s thigh exposed. </p><p> </p><p>For a moment Julian just watched her hands work. She made it look so simple. “I suppose I am,” he said in affirmation. </p><p> </p><p>Ziyal was quiet in concentration, her deft stitches closing the tear in what felt like record time. She tied off the thread, then turned Julian’s trousers right side out to examine the seam. It was neatly closed, barely visible if one didn’t know where to look. </p><p> </p><p>“It looks like you’ve done that a few times,” Julian said, unable to help the surprise in his tone as she passed the pants back to him. “You would have made a good doctor in the old days.”</p><p> </p><p>“We all do what we can,” Ziyal said simply.</p><p> </p><p>They both stood up from the hard floor, and Julian stepped back into his pants, pleased to see that the stitches were invisible from the outside. “It's perfect,” Julian said with a grateful glance over his shoulder, looking for the kit he’d taken the needle from. Prior to his misguided attempt at sewing, he’d been scavenging supplies from around the gutted infirmary to pack another medkit for the trip. </p><p> </p><p>“So,” he continued after a moment, already mentally inventorying again. “What brings you here?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re going to need this.”</p><p> </p><p>He turned around to see Ziyal holding out a phaser, hilt first.</p><p> </p><p>Julian just looked at it for a moment, surprised. He didn’t recognize its make—certainly not Federation, but neither Cardassian nor Klingon. Andorian, maybe. He was hardly an expert in weapons technology, especially here and now. </p><p> </p><p>He looked at Ziyal’s solemn face. “Thanks, but I’m going on this mission as a doctor.” That way, he reasoned, he wasn’t technically violating any Starfleet directives by involving himself in this conflict. (There was still a part of him that was urging him to reconsider, in this place where he wasn’t even supposed to exist.)</p><p> </p><p>“You’ll have to defend yourself one way or another.” Ziyal spoke with a grim certainty that Julian knew came from experience. “Take it.”</p><p> </p><p> After a pause that felt longer than it probably was in reality, Julian reached out and took the phaser from her gingerly. It was heavier than he remembered a Federation weapon to be, the balance of the weight far different than the models he’d used previously. The power cells were probably older, less advanced. Despite his Starfleet training and his previous skirmishes, the weapon felt alien in his hands.</p><p> </p><p>His hesitation must have shown.</p><p> </p><p>Ziyal came to stand next to him, placing her pale gray hands over his own to adjust his grip. “Like this,” she instructed, moving his thumb to adjust the power setting. She moved with a quiet confidence, a maturity that belied her youth, so much so that it startled Julian. He knew that she had probably seen and done things that he couldn’t imagine, but still he found it sad that the compassionate young woman he knew had been forced into such a life.</p><p> </p><p>“This is the power setting. Safety is here, and you aim over this little crest here,” Ziyal was saying, and he let himself be positioned by her expert hands. “I wouldn’t try to get too fancy with shooting from a distance; these things can be finicky sometimes. Just get as close as you can, and I promise it’ll do the trick.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian nodded, looking down the phaser sight and noting the position of his hands before he lowered the weapon and nudged the safety back on. “Thank you,” he said after a moment, genuinely. </p><p> </p><p>Ziyal merely nodded. “Watch your back out there,” she said, crossing her arms and looking at Julian with that sharp-eyed gaze that was so reminiscent of her father. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re not coming?” Julian hazarded a guess, probing. He set the phaser down on the counter, near the open medkit and scattered supplies he’d been combing through.</p><p> </p><p>Ziyal gave a thin smile. “It would make sense, wouldn’t it? But no,” she said tersely. A pause. “My father thinks it’s best if I stay behind.” It was clear she wasn’t happy about it, and Julian could see now that the stiffness in her posture was not aggression but tense anxiety.</p><p> </p><p>Julian’s gaze softened. “He’s only trying to protect you, Ziyal.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Ziyal said, bitterness seeping into her tone as she shifted restlessly on her feet. “And I’m tired of it. I’m just as capable of leading one of the away teams as anyone else.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian didn’t doubt it. “And I’m sure your father knows that, too,” he said gently, looking her in the eyes. “But we’re going to need you here. If we don’t come back, then—”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t say that. You’re going to come back,” Ziyal said sharply, cutting him off. “All of you.”</p><p> </p><p>They both knew it wasn’t true, but Julian didn’t have the heart to press the technicalities with her. It was likely that at least one of the away teams would be lost—perhaps thirty percent of their total attack force, if luck wasn’t on their side. And that was to say nothing of the success of the mission itself. </p><p> </p><p>Instead, he smiled weakly. “We’re going to try.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’ve come too far to die now,” Ziyal insisted, her eyes fierce. She was still young enough to believe in things like that, like fate, like destiny, like justice. Julian couldn’t take that from her. The rebellion needed that.</p><p> </p><p>Julian didn’t know if it was possible to will something into existence just by believing it. He’d certainly tried when he was younger, as though believing he was just like the other kids at school and forgetting about what had been done to him could somehow change it. For a while, he’d almost made himself believe it. He also knew that people could make themselves sick simply by believing they were ill—it was a well-documented phenomenon in multiple humanoid species. Even if there was no underlying medical problem, the simple belief that one was ill was enough to manifest very real symptoms. </p><p> </p><p>There was power in belief, at least to some extent. The Bajoran people were living proof of that—in Julian’s universe, anyway. He’d treated his fair share of post-traumatic wounds in some of the station’s Bajoran residents, who had lived under the crushing weight of Cardassian occupation for decades. There had been no tangible hope for a long time, for the majority of the younger generation’s lifetime. And yet, the resistance had continued. That much was very real. One only had to look at Major Kira to see it. She and her people had made their own hope when there was none to be found around them.  </p><p> </p><p>Julian wondered if it was the same here. </p><p> </p><p>“You don’t believe me, do you?” Ziyal’s voice brought him out of his reverie. Her wry smile did nothing to gentle the flintiness of her eyes. “I suppose it’s all different where you come from.” She did not sound jealous or wistful, only resigned.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Julian admitted after a moment. He found it difficult to meet her eyes and settled on staring at the delicate spoon-shaped protrusion in her forehead. “It’s… very different.”</p><p> </p><p>Her gaze raked him up and down, and Julian couldn’t help but feel like he was being appraised. </p><p> </p><p>“You know, at first I didn’t believe you,” Ziyal said after a pause, leaning her lower back against a biobed stacked with various disorganized boxes. The low, bluish light played over her pale gray skin, making her seem almost ghostly. “About the mirror universe. Smiley explained it to me, and I think I get it, but I still have one question.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s that?” There were no chairs to be found in the infirmary, for whatever reason, so Julian cleared off a couple boxes from the biobed, enough so that they could both perch on the edge with their feet dangling a few inches. </p><p> </p><p>Ziyal looked up from their dangling feet to stare at Julian with eyes that seemed a deep, colorless black in the low light. “Why are you here?”</p><p> </p><p>Julian blinked. It was so far from what he expected that he wasn’t sure how to answer. “I suppose I could ask you the same thing,” he pointed out.</p><p> </p><p>Ziyal didn’t budge. “I asked you first.”</p><p> </p><p>Damn. She was the most straightforward Cardassian he’d ever met, that was for sure. “I… it was an accident, I suppose,” Julian said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. What was he supposed to say? That he’d decided to get up and touch the dazzling rip in spacetime without thinking of the consequences? It sounded stupid even in his head. But it was done, and there was nothing he could do to change it.</p><p> </p><p>Ziyal let out a short laugh, surprising him. “I guess you could say the same thing for me.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian stared at her, a frown furrowing his brows. “You’re saying you came here… by accident?”</p><p> </p><p>She picked at the frayed hem of her tunic, rolling worn black threads between her fingers. “In a manner of speaking.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian pursed his lips in frustration. “Alright, then. Let me be more specific. Why are you here fighting this war, Ziyal?”</p><p> </p><p>Ziyal looked at him with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. “You really want to know? You, Bashir?”</p><p> </p><p>“Julian,” he corrected, meeting her gaze steadily.</p><p> </p><p>Ziyal was quiet for a long moment. “You really aren’t much like him,” she said finally.</p><p> </p><p>Julian tried to tamp down his frustration that he still never met the other Bashir. He was starting to get the idea that his alternate self was less than friendly, though. He was also starting to think he should give up asking so many questions. Other people had always told him that particular habit would get him in trouble one day. The silence between them seemed to stretch on for far longer than the minute or two it must have been in reality.</p><p> </p><p>“You never knew my mother. Tora Naprem.”</p><p> </p><p>At first Julian couldn’t be sure he’d heard right. He stared at Ziyal. “No,” he said slowly, “I didn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>Ziyal stared at the floor, her gaze distant. “She was a colonel in the Bajoran militia. Working for the Alliance, of course. That’s how she met my father. But she wasn’t happy with the way Bajor was being treated by the Alliance—a lot of people weren’t. That’s why she joined the Bajoran underground in secret. I don’t know when it started. But I was ten when I saw a Klingon beat a Terran man to death for displeasing the Intendant. All he did was bring her a message. She didn’t like it, apparently. That’s how I learned that the Alliance—my people included—viewed some people’s lives as disposable. It made me sick. And so when my mother started asking me to pass messages, carry data clips… I did it.” </p><p> </p><p>Julian tried and failed to keep the surprise off his face. “You were part of the resistance, even then?”</p><p> </p><p>She smiled faintly. “No one ever suspected me. Why would they? I was a child, and a gul’s daughter, no less.”</p><p> </p><p>“Did your father know?” Julian asked hesitantly.</p><p> </p><p>“I think that he pretended not to, for my mother’s sake,” Ziyal said softly, staring down at the floor. “He protected us, kept us away from suspicion, even when the bombings on Bajor started. But then…” She swallowed hard, like she was fighting back tears. “My mother got arrested. I didn’t know until my father and I were visiting Bajor, and we were met by an armed guard escort. And they… they took us to meet the Regent and Damar.” She smiled bitterly. “It was Damar who betrayed us. My father’s best friend. They made him a legate for it.”</p><p> </p><p>Ziyal’s hands were clenched into fists atop her thighs, and Julian carefully reached out and laid a hand on her arm in a comforting gesture. He didn’t speak, hoping she would continue. </p><p> </p><p>Ziyal took a breath to steady herself. “They… the Obsidian Order had my mother. They knew everything she knew. And Damar said… he said they would give her a quick death in exchange for giving me up.” </p><p> </p><p>There were tears running down her pale gray cheeks now, but her eyes were far away. “My father refused. He fought them off to give me time to escape. He fought the Klingon Regent himself, just so I could have time to get back to the shuttle and flee. They nearly killed him. I wanted to go back for him, but there was nothing I could do. I thought I was going to have to leave the planet by myself, but… he made it back to the shuttle, just in time. I don’t know how, but he did. We did the only thing that we could do: run.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m so sorry, Ziyal,” Julian said softly. He didn’t know what else to say, but he meant it. </p><p> </p><p>Ziyal shook her head minutely. Her gaze was focused on her shoes like they held the secrets of the universe. “When I was a little girl,” she said quietly, “my father had to go away a lot. Off-planet to command a mission, or to address the Central Command, something like that. I always tried to get him to stay, asked him why he had to go. And he told me that his first duty was to Cardassia.” She smiled ruefully. “I believed him at first. But… in the end, he loved me and my mother more than he loved Cardassia.” </p><p> </p><p>She looked at Julian. “It was the rebels who helped us after we fled. A free Vulcan ship tractored our shuttle. I thought they were going to kill us, or else ransom us back to the Alliance. But their captain, Saavik, saw us as potential allies rather than enemies. My father and I both owed Saavik our lives.”</p><p> </p><p>“How long ago was that?” Julian asked after a pause.</p><p> </p><p>“Six years,” Ziyal responded. “It was about a year ago that we came here at Saavik’s request. After the death of Ben Sisko, this group was ready to fall apart. They needed a leader who knew Bajoran space and Terok Nor, and how to fight them.” She gave a faint smile. “Who better?”</p><p> </p><p>Julian was quiet for a moment, unsure of how to respond. All this information was enough to make his head spin. </p><p> </p><p>“I think you’re very brave,” he said at last. “I don’t know that I could have done what you did.” The more he learned about this universe, the more he thought about how much he took for granted in his own universe. How easy it was to make decisions when you could be relatively certain that you would see the light of tomorrow, with a safe place to rest and the knowledge that you weren’t being hunted down like an animal. </p><p> </p><p>Julian was starting to understand now why everyone here seemed so taut and intense, like they were ready to jump into action at any moment. These were people who knew with near certainty that they were going to die in battle. Perhaps not today, or tomorrow, or the day after that. But they knew it would happen, and they were prepared to walk knowingly into that fate, all for the chance that one day their peoples would be free. </p><p> </p><p>“There are a lot of things you think you can’t do, until you find that you have to,” Ziyal said. Her dark eyes were trained on Julian again, tear tracks barely visible on her pale gray cheeks. “Be careful out there, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Julian met her gaze, feeling like he understood something now that he hadn’t before. “We will.”</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>They were minutes away from Terok Nor. The rebels had been in Alliance space since their ships departed the station, and it made for a tense atmosphere. There were no Alliance patrols scheduled for another day, but everyone remained on alert nonetheless. They would only get one shot at this.</p><p> </p><p>They had five ships—two small but maneuverable freighters outfitted with stolen weapons, one ancient Klingon bird-of-prey with a finicky cloaking device, and two stolen Alliance shuttlecraft. The plan was for the two freighters to draw fire from Terok Nor, engaging their weapons and keeping their attention, doing as much damage as possible to whatever ships were docked there, while the bird-of-prey would provide backup, allowing them to work in tandem. This would provide cover for the two shuttlecraft to set down at a runabout pad and infiltrate the station.</p><p> </p><p>One of the shuttlecraft teams would make their way to Upper Pylon 2, where the hunter ship that Jennifer Sisko had described would be waiting. The other would make their way to a computer console and release the docking clamps using stolen command codes. Then, it was up to everyone to do as much damage as they could and then beat a hasty retreat. </p><p> </p><p>It was a hell of a risky plan. Julian had said as much when they went over it in Ops, mapping the fastest routes from their relevant points of entry. And everyone agreed. But they had no other choice, unless they wanted to sit around and wait for the Alliance to hunt them down. </p><p> </p><p>Julian adjusted the phaser holstered at his hip, restlessly shifting his weight. He couldn’t help but be nervous. It was his job to reroute them through the station if they ran into any roadblocks, but with his knowledge of the station’s layout, it shouldn’t be an issue. Their team was being led by Dukat, who would protect O’Brien and Julian on their way to the ship. O’Brien was their expert on engineering, and he would be the one flying the ship once they got to it, along with a couple other Terrans selected by O’Brien for their engineering aptitude. </p><p> </p><p>The other shuttlecraft team was led by Tuvok, who would take another team of Terrans to wreak havoc inside the station and find a computer console from which they could release the docking clamps on the ship. Meanwhile, Dax was leading the assault from the bird-of-prey, which would hopefully hold the Intendant’s attention and keep the station’s defenses busy. </p><p> </p><p>The timing was going to be tight. If even one team fell behind or got held up somehow, it would spell disaster for the rest of the plan. Julian tried not to think of all the possible ways this could go wrong. He glanced out the main viewer, where the tiny glimmer that was Terok Nor was starting to come into visual range.</p><p> </p><p>O’Brien was piloting the craft with Dukat at the secondary controls, while Julian stood back and quietly marveled at the sight. The Miles of his universe would never believe it. </p><p> </p><p>“We’re almost there,” O’Brien reported, his face grim. </p><p> </p><p><em>“We’re in position just outside their sensor range, Shuttle One,” </em>Dax’s voice came over the com. <em>“Ready on your mark.”</em></p><p> </p><p>“Stand by, Dax.” Dukat pressed a couple buttons on the console, opening a channel to the other shuttle. “Shuttle Two, status.”</p><p> </p><p><em>“We are in position, Captain. 4,000 kilometers off your port bow,” </em>said Tuvok.</p><p> </p><p>Julian steadied himself with a deep breath.</p><p> </p><p>Another click switched the channel back to the bird-of-prey. Dukat glanced at Miles. “Mr. O’Brien, what is that Terran saying you’re so fond of?”</p><p> </p><p>Miles let out a huff of laughter, then turned to the com. “Give ‘em hell, Dax.”</p><p> </p><p>Dukat nodded, pleased. “Exactly.”</p><p> </p><p>Dax chuckled over the com. <em>“With pleasure.”</em></p><p> </p><p>They were in view of Terok Nor now, and the dazzling light of disruptors fried the main shield generators and blasted off one of the main deflector disks in their first pass. First blood. Julian couldn’t help but smile. Of course they wouldn’t have seen a Klingon ship as a threat, at least not at first. </p><p> </p><p>Now it began for real, the freighters bombarding the station with all the stolen firepower they had while Dax’s bird-of-prey came around for another pass.</p><p> </p><p>“Find us a runabout pad, Mr. O’Brien,” Dukat said, and Miles was already on it. “I do believe that’s our cue.”</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>The station was a storm of activity, alarms going off everywhere, the very walls shuddering when a blast of disruptor fire hit too close. They had managed to take the Alliance by surprise, and this meant they were disorganized, scrambling to respond, though they were keenly aware that it wouldn’t last. There were only a few Bajoran and Klingon workers in the runabout bay, the rest having been called to battle stations, and they were quickly dispatched with well-placed phaser shots.</p><p> </p><p>Julian couldn’t help but feel a bit bad, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. </p><p> </p><p>“Stay close, Doctor,” Dukat reminded him, pulling Julian away from one of the Bajoran bodies. </p><p> </p><p>“C’mon, this way!” said Miles from the doorway, beckoning urgently, and they followed him into the station’s interior. </p><p> </p><p>There were alarms ringing, lights flashing, but the corridor was surprisingly deserted. Most likely everyone was either rushing for the central core to man their stations, or headed for the docking ring to get in their ships and engage the rebels. </p><p> </p><p>Julian took the lead, pushing back his unease at being back in this place which was both familiar and alien, a nightmare version of the place that had become something like his home. He recognized this corridor and calculated that they still had a ways to go. The entrance to Upper Pylon 2 was more than a kilometer from the runabout pad where they’d come in. He kept his phaser in hand, trying to slow the pounding of his heart as they moved as quickly but unobtrusively as they could. </p><p> </p><p>As they came to the next corridor junction, Julian froze, his enhanced hearing picking up a set of footsteps coming from the left-adjoining corridor. He stopped short, and Miles nearly ran right into him, with Dukat only a step behind.</p><p> </p><p>“Someone’s coming,” Julian said in a low, urgent tone. He could pick up their harsh, guttural voices speaking amongst one another. “Klingons. At least three, maybe more.”</p><p> </p><p>“Keep your heads down and keep moving,” Dukat ordered quickly. “If anyone asks, you’re my prisoners.” </p><p> </p><p>Julian and Miles hid their phasers in their waistbands and tried to seem appropriately subdued. </p><p> </p><p>The Klingons rounded the corner at a jog, clearly in a hurry. There were four of them, and three barely even spared them a glance. A Cardassian corralling a couple of Terrans wasn’t an unusual sight on the station. </p><p> </p><p>But the one Klingon, younger and more ambitious, was apparently more observant than his fellows, noticing Dukat’s lack of uniform. He stopped, baring his teeth in a snarl. “You!” he barked.</p><p> </p><p>Miles and Julian didn’t have to fake the way they flinched.</p><p> </p><p>“Is there a problem, Klingon?” Dukat asked with an imperious sneer. “As you can see, I’m rather busy.”</p><p> </p><p>The Klingon growled. “Where are you taking these Terrans? And who are you? I don’t recognize you.”</p><p> </p><p>“You dare question me?” Dukat hissed, taking a step forward. He was doing a very good job of sounding like an incensed Cardassian officer who was tired of dealing with unruly Klingons. “I suppose I shouldn’t expect anything more of your thickheaded species. I know we all look the same to you.”</p><p> </p><p>One of the other Klingons stepped forward and growled, low and threatening. “Your name, Cardassian.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian saw the other two put their hands on their disruptors and made a split-second decision. He pulled out his phaser and fired before anyone could move, taking out one of the Klingons instantly, and sending the other three into a rage. </p><p> </p><p>Dukat dodged the swipe of a mek’leth from the largest Klingon before dispatching him with a ridged elbow to the temple, followed by a disruptor shot to the head once the Klingon’s massive body crumpled to the floor.</p><p> </p><p>Miles quickly followed suit, shooting another in the stomach and watching him collapse.</p><p> </p><p>“Intruders in Section 15!” snarled the shortest of the group, just before Dukat shot him, cutting him off before he could say more. He kicked the corpse out of the way.</p><p> </p><p>“I was handling it,” Dukat said irritably, as the three of them kept on their way.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I handled it better,” Julian retorted. “You were taking too long.” They needed to hurry. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. </p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately, Julian’s hunch proved correct only a short few minutes later, when they came face to face with yet another of Julian’s nightmares. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, well,” said Gul Garak with a cold smile, flanked by two Klingons on each side. Together they blocked the corridor entirely. “Congratulations on making it this far, but I’m afraid all this ends here.” </p><p> </p><p>Julian felt frozen as those calculating blue eyes raked him up and down. While the Garak he knew could be unsettling at times, he tended to demur his presence, blending into the background and remaining overtly non-intimidating—or, at least as non-intimidating as any Cardassian could be.</p><p> </p><p>This Garak, however, clearly had no such qualms. The sharp-angled black cuirass made his stocky frame appear that much broader, and the aura of a deadly predator rolled off him in waves. His eyes glinted like chips of ice, a cold mockery of a smile settled on his lips. </p><p> </p><p>Julian swallowed hard. Unwillingly, he remembered Jadzia’s words about Garak and what he did to people under the Intendant’s tender care. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, isn’t this quite the reunion,” Garak nearly purred, sounding terribly pleased with himself. His gaze settled on Miles and Julian. “I remember you two. A pity the Intendant didn’t allow me to get a bit more… intimate with you.” Somehow he wielded the words like the caress of a blade, and it made Julian’s skin prickle.</p><p> </p><p>His gaze shifted to Dukat, and he grinned, gesturing theatrically. “Dukat! My old friend. Looking a bit the worse for wear, I see. I must say, I didn’t expect to see you here, after all these years.” He chuckled. “Is this the sort of company you keep these days? You know, I think this is perhaps even better than having you executed on Cardassia. Seeing you… <em>cavorting </em>with these Terran swine is much more satisfying.”</p><p> </p><p>Dukat’s sneer didn’t quite mask the smoldering hate in his gaze. “I always said that you needed someone to take you in hand, Garak. I know who holds your leash. First it was Enabran Tain, and now the Intendant. You bite when she says you can, like a good hound.”</p><p> </p><p>Garak chuckled darkly as he crossed the distance between them, so close that their foreheads were nearly touching. “I must say, I do look forward to interrogating you—once the Intendant has her fun, of course,” he said, voice low. “I’d like to see if you’re as pathetic as your father was.”</p><p> </p><p>The ripple of anger that went up Dukat’s spine and darkened his neck ridges was nearly palpable. It made Julian want to reach out and pull him away, if only to keep him from lashing out prematurely. Garak was baiting him, he knew. </p><p> </p><p>Julian and Miles still had their phasers in hand, tense. They hadn’t been told to drop their weapons, and the Klingons were clearly well-trained, awaiting orders even though it was obvious they wanted to descend on the Terrans like hunting hounds on a fox. Julian knew they would only have one shot at this if they wanted a fighting chance. But he needed a distraction. If he lifted his phaser now, he’d be shot.</p><p> </p><p>“Perhaps I’ll start with one of the Terrans,” Garak remarked, his gaze flicking to Julian momentarily, then back to Dukat. “You could watch. I do lovely work, you know. It’s a <em>shame </em>you didn’t get to see what I did to Tora Naprem.” He grinned. “I wonder if Ziyal sounds like her mother when she screams.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian wasn’t sure what started it. It could have been Miles shooting at one of the Klingons and diving to the floor to avoid the disruptor beams that followed, or perhaps it was Dukat going for Garak’s throat with a snarl, missing by inches and lacerating Garak’s neck ridge instead. The corridor plunged into chaos in an instant, the Klingons leaping into the fight like loyal hounds, going for Miles and Julian whilst Garak and Dukat were locked into battle.</p><p> </p><p>Julian ducked under a Klingon’s heavy fist, bringing his phaser up to shoot only to be grabbed roughly from behind by another Klingon. He struggled even as the Klingon’s arm threatened to crush his ribs, throwing an elbow backwards and catching the Klingon in the throat.</p><p> </p><p>The Klingon choked and released Julian, clutching at his throat and choking as he staggered and fell to his knees. For once not having to worry about holding back his strength, Julian grabbed the Klingon by his wild mane of hair and slammed his knee into the man’s nose, hearing it shatter with an audible crunch. Breathing hard, he watched the Klingon fall limply to the floor, bleeding heavily from his face, unconscious or at the very least stunned.</p><p> </p><p>There was a second’s breathing room before Julian was blindsided by a hit to his temple, his vision dazzled with agony as he fell to the floor, insensate. The world was distant and blurry, his ears ringing. He saw the vague shape of the other Klingon standing over him with a disruptor, only for a brilliant burst of phaser fire to tear through the Klingon’s stomach. The corpse crumpled on top of its fellow.</p><p> </p><p>“Julian!” Miles called out, clearly worried, but he was on the ground, trapped under another dead Klingon’s heavy bulk. </p><p> </p><p>But Julian was hardly paying attention.</p><p> </p><p>Garak and Dukat were still rolling around on the floor, entrapped in a vicious struggle. Dukat’s claws had done a number on Garak’s exposed scales, but it was clear that Garak had the advantage here, bigger and heavier and better armored. Dukat was putting up a valiant struggle, but when Garak rolled on top of him, pinning him on his back, he couldn’t dislodge the larger Cardassian.</p><p> </p><p>Teeth bared, Garak held Dukat down with a forearm across his throat, pressing on that vulnerable place just under his jaw, legs straddling Dukat’s chest. Dukat kicked and bucked underneath him, clawing desperately at Garak’s arm, but he was weakening quickly, unable to breathe.</p><p> </p><p>Julian reached desperately for his phaser, out of reach near the dead Klingon that Miles had shot. Every movement sent throbbing pain through his head, but he had to do <em>something</em>…! His fingertips had just touched the phaser when suddenly a shot hissed through the air, and Garak collapsed with a smoking hole in his back. </p><p> </p><p>Dukat threw him off, gasping and coughing, and Julian stared with wide eyes. Julian’s gaze followed the direction from which the shot had come, only to see—</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Garak?” </em>Julian breathed, disbelieving. He felt his stomach do a flip-flop that was somehow both nauseated and elated. It was Garak—<em>his </em>Garak—wearing that awful dot-patterned tunic that Julian insisted did not match anything.</p><p> </p><p>Garak looked at the phaser in his hand, as though surprised, then glanced at the body, then finally at Julian. “Do you think this counts as a suicide?” he quipped.</p><p> </p><p>“Do I…?” Julian trailed off, then grinned. “Garak,” he said again, so relieved he thought he might pass out. He laughed, perhaps a tad hysterically. The side of his head was sticky with blood.</p><p> </p><p>He watched Garak’s shoulders stiffen, his grip on the phaser tightening, and Julian turned his head to see Dukat aiming a disruptor at Garak.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait!” Julian said with wide eyes, reaching out with one arm as though to stop him. “It’s alright, he’s from my universe.”</p><p> </p><p>Dukat didn’t look away from Garak for an instant, his gaze icy. “And I suppose you know him?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Julian said immediately, glancing at Garak. “He’s a friend.” </p><p> </p><p>When neither of the two Cardassians moved to lower their weapons, Julian scooted across the floor (he didn’t trust his balance at the moment) to get closer to Dukat, ignoring the flicker of surprise on Garak’s face. </p><p> </p><p>“I trust him,” he said, placing a hand on Dukat’s arm. “Skrain, <em>please. </em>Trust me.”</p><p> </p><p>Dukat glanced at Julian, seeing the pleading look in his eyes. Finally, he lowered his disruptor, if a tad reluctantly. </p><p> </p><p>Garak did the same, though he kept the weapon in hand. “Yes, we’re all friends here for the moment,” he said, though it was clear he was wary. “Now, Doctor, I must ask you and Chief O’Brien to come with me.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” said Julian and Miles at the same time. Julian stared at him, not understanding at first.</p><p> </p><p>“We don’t belong here, Doctor,” Garak clarified, though he was clearly impatient. “I was sent here to bring you back to our universe, and that is what I intend to do.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian felt a flutter in his chest at the realization that Garak had come to rescue him, but he stood his ground all the same. “Garak, I can’t leave yet.”</p><p> </p><p>“What in the world do you mean, ‘you can’t leave’?” Garak asked incredulously. “I’m afraid we’re on a rather tight schedule, Doctor.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Julian shot back, staggering for a moment as he found his feet, and Dukat’s hand steadied him as they both stood. “We need to get to that ship docked at Upper Pylon 2.”</p><p> </p><p>“What we <em>need </em>is to get to a transporter, have Chief O’Brien modify it, and <em>get out of here!” </em>Garak exclaimed, exasperated. “This is getting out of hand. We have to go, Doctor. <em>Now.</em>” He came over to grab Julian’s arm, but Julian yanked it away.</p><p> </p><p>“No!” Julian snapped, glaring, and Garak was taken aback by his forcefulness. “If we don’t do this, then a lot of Terrans are going to die, and I won’t let that happen!”</p><p> </p><p>“And I suppose these two are helping you accomplish that,” Garak said dubiously, looking from Miles to Dukat. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Julian said, looking him in the eyes. “Garak, please, I <em>have </em>to do this. We’re running out of time.”</p><p> </p><p>Garak’s expression was unreadable. He looked solemn, perhaps. Grim. But he nodded finally, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “You always were too selfless for your own good, Doctor,” he said with the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Go on, then. There will be more where those Klingons came from. I’ll see if I can stall for time down here.” </p><p> </p><p>Julian let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, reaching down to pick up his phaser. He looked over his shoulder as he was leaving. “Thank you, Garak.”</p><p> </p><p>Garak was too busy shooting Klingons around the corner to hear him.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>It was a race against time to get to Upper Pylon 2. They met up with some of the other Terrans from Tuvok’s group, who had gotten separated in the confusion, and ended up crawling into an access tunnel to make their way to their destination. Miles insisted that he knew where he was going, though it was less than pleasant in the cramped space as they climbed ladder after ladder and crawled through what felt like miles of ducts. But eventually they did come out at Upper Pylon 2, and Julian couldn’t help but be relieved.</p><p> </p><p>The two Terrans from Tuvok’s group used their stolen command codes to open the airlock that separated them from the ship, and thankfully no one seemed to be around to notice them fiddling with the control panel. </p><p> </p><p>Julian recognized the ship as soon as they were inside. “It’s the <em>Defiant,</em>” he breathed, wondrous, even as the others were scurrying around him to take their stations. </p><p> </p><p>“Catchy name for it,” Miles remarked from the helmsman’s seat. “I like it.” </p><p> </p><p>It was strange to see Dukat in the captain’s chair of the familiar ship, but Julian was quickly getting used to a great many strange things. </p><p> </p><p>“Systems status,” Dukat ordered sharply.</p><p> </p><p>“Navigational systems online,” said Nisa, the Terran woman at the sensor and navigations console. </p><p> </p><p>“Engines coming online, warp core looks stable,” Miles said, punching keys like he’d been doing it his whole life.</p><p> </p><p>“Weapons online,” said another Terran called Aquila, whose eyes were wide. “This thing’s packing more firepower than all our ships combined.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re gonna need it,” Miles grimaced. </p><p> </p><p>Just then Dukat’s com bracelet chirped. <em>“Dukat, we can’t keep this up for much longer,” </em>Dax said urgently. <em>“We’re getting hammered out here!”</em></p><p> </p><p>“Copy that, Dax. We’re in position,” Dukat responded. The hum of the warp core coming online made the floor vibrate beneath their feet.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“They’re calling in ships from the Seventh Fleet stationed nearby. If we don’t hurry, we’ll be surrounded.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Dukat swore, some untranslatable curse in Kardasi. “We’re almost there. Evasive action, Dax.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Copy that. Dax out.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Are we ready yet?” Dukat asked impatiently.</p><p> </p><p>“Negative. Docking clamps still engaged,” said Nisa, an anxious frown furrowing her brows.</p><p> </p><p>Dukat pressed a button on his com. “Tuvok, now would be a good time.”</p><p> </p><p>No response. Dread pooled in the pit of Julian’s stomach. Had they come this far, only to be stopped now?</p><p> </p><p>Just then, the lights flashed green on the sensor console. “Docking clamps released,” Nisa reported with wide eyes, sounding incredulous.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Garak to rebel-controlled ship. You are free to leave,” </em>came a familiar voice over the ship’s com. <em>“I suggest you make haste.”</em></p><p> </p><p>Julian’s heart soared, and he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face, and the bridge erupted in victorious cheers. </p><p> </p><p>“Aquila, shields up and weapons at the ready. Nisa, you have the coordinates. O’Brien, you heard him. Take us out of here, warp eight as soon as we can,” Dukat said, not quite preening as he sat back in the captain’s chair. He pressed his com again. “Time to go, Dax.” </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Will do, Captain. See you in a few light years.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Julian felt dizzy with joy and relief and most likely a concussion. The newly christened <em>Defiant </em>pulled away from the station, the warp core humming as they prepared for the jump to light speed. </p><p> </p><p>But there was just one thing he’d forgotten. Horrified, Julian leapt to his feet. “We can’t leave without Garak!”</p><p> </p><p>“We certainly bloody can,” Miles said. “We’re ready to go to warp.”</p><p> </p><p>“No! Miles, I need you to beam him up here, <em>please,</em>” Julian practically begged. “He saved your life. He saved all our lives!”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s too late,” Miles insisted. “Once we go to warp, it’ll be impossible to transport anyone!”</p><p> </p><p>“Then we don’t go to warp yet,” Julian said, desperate. “I’m asking you to try.”</p><p> </p><p>Miles looked reluctant, and Julian turned to Dukat with pleading eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Dukat sighed. “Do it, Mr. O’Brien. Or at least make an attempt,” he said. The ship shuddered with an impact to the shields from a disruptor shot. “You have two minutes. That’s how long we can last before we go to warp.”</p><p> </p><p>Miles didn’t look pleased, but he got up from his seat and went for the narrow staircase that led to the Engineering section. </p><p> </p><p>Dukat got up to take his place at the helm, but Julian hesitated, not following Miles just yet.</p><p> </p><p>Julian looked up at the Cardassian, momentarily unsure of himself. “Thank you,” was what he said finally, and on impulse he pressed their palms together, fingers interlaced. </p><p> </p><p>Dukat’s eyes widened, just for a second, and the faintest hint of a dark blue blush tinged his neck ridges. The intimacy of such a gesture was not lost on him, though he seemed surprised that Julian could know such a thing. </p><p> </p><p>Just then the ship shook violently from another impact, alarms going off on various consoles, and the trance between them was broken as they stumbled apart, unbalanced. Quickly, Dukat moved to the helm controls to plot an evasive course, while Nisa called out shakily that their port shields were down to sixty percent. </p><p> </p><p>Julian forced himself not to look back as he ran down the stairs to the engineering section, where Miles had booted up the transporter and was looking at the blinking lights in frustration.</p><p> </p><p>“Have you got him yet?” Julian asked breathlessly.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m trying!” Miles said irritably. “Looking for one Cardassian on a station with hundreds of other Cardassians? It’s not easy.”</p><p> </p><p>“He was in Ops, he had to be,” Julian said, feeling like his heart was in his throat. “He released the docking clamps, remember?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m looking,” Miles muttered. They both had to grip the edges of the console to stay on their feet as another impact rocked the ship. “Alright, got him—I think. It’s the only Cardassian signature in Ops.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian felt weak with relief. He opened his mouth to speak, only to be drowned out by the hum of the warp core firing up, ready to take them to light speed.</p><p> </p><p>Julian felt the familiar tug behind his navel that indicated the jump to warp. Miles had already energized the beam. </p><p> </p><p>The ship shuddered as the inertial dampers took a moment to stabilize, and there was suddenly a blindingly bright light bursting into existence on the transporter pad, rippling like water and bending spacetime at its edges. That hum wasn’t the warp core, Julian realized. It was the anomaly, the same spacetime anomaly he’d seen in the infirmary what felt like a lifetime ago.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve got Garak’s pattern, but that thing is interfering with the rematerialization!” Miles said with wide eyes. “What the hell is it?”</p><p> </p><p>The low hum resonated in Julian’s very bones. If the tear in spacetime wasn’t closed, then Garak’s pattern would be lost. Julian knew what he had to do.</p><p> </p><p>Distantly, he could hear Miles calling his name, but he didn’t stop to look back as he approached the anomaly, the light so intense he couldn’t see anything but the dazzling brightness of it. </p><p> </p><p>He reached out with one arm, as though to feel his way through with eyes closed, and could have sworn he felt someone take his hand just before he felt weightless, and everything was swallowed up by blinding white. </p><p> </p><p>--</p><p>
  
</p><p>Julian woke up feeling like he’d been hit in the head by a Klingon. He opened his eyes, squinting against the light, and groaned softly. He reached up to touch the aching side of his head and hissed, immediately regretting it. The first thing he noticed was that he was dizzy and nauseous and almost certainly had a concussion. </p><p> </p><p>The second was that he was on a transporter pad. On the <em>Defiant. </em>Julian’s breath caught in his throat as he looked around, hoping against hope.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t have to look for long. Next to him was Garak’s unconscious form, lying in a position that was likely to leave his back aching, but blessedly in one piece.</p><p> </p><p>“Garak,” Julian said, trying and failing to keep the quaver out of his own voice. He scooted closer to the Cardassian’s unmoving form, trying to see if he was injured in some way.</p><p> </p><p>There was a bruise on Garak’s jaw that he hadn’t noticed before, and it looked like his lip had bled at one point, but otherwise there were no other obvious wounds. </p><p> </p><p>“Garak?” Julian tried again, starting to worry. He reached out to shake him gently, but Garak made a soft sound just before Julian’s hand could make contact with his clothed shoulder, the fabric singed with phaser burns.</p><p> </p><p>Julian was close enough that he could see the nictitating membranes withdraw underneath the eyelids as Garak opened his eyes. Garak seemed somewhat dazed as he sat up, blinking.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m beginning to see why some people are wary of the transporter,” Garak said after a moment, grimacing and touching his head gingerly. </p><p> </p><p>Julian could have cried, if he wasn’t certain that doing so would exacerbate his awful headache. Instead, he laughed weakly. “I’m just glad to see you in one piece.”</p><p> </p><p>In a moment of reckless inhibition, he threw his arms around Garak’s neck and hugged him tight. Normally he would have never dared, but between the adrenaline still pumping in his veins from their near-death experience and the head injury, it felt like a good idea in the moment. Garak was something solid and real to lean against as the world felt like it was gently spinning, and Julian could hear the muted thud of the Cardassian’s heartbeat. It was somehow incredibly soothing, he thought dizzily. </p><p> </p><p>Garak had gone stiff in his embrace, Julian realized, and he was about to be embarrassed, just before he felt Garak’s arms come to rest ever so carefully on his back. Slowly, he felt Garak relax, and the sensation of that gentle embrace was enough to make Julian’s heart ache all over again.</p><p> </p><p>“And I you, Doctor,” Garak said in a soft voice, ostensibly in deference to Julian’s headache, but Julian thought he could detect a hint of… fondness there. Dazedly, Julian wished it could last.</p><p> </p><p>After a moment Garak glanced around, taking in the deserted Engineering section. “Where, exactly, are we?”</p><p> </p><p>“That is the question, isn’t it?” They separated, and Julian stood up shakily, unsure of what to hope for or what he would see. There was only one way to find out. </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t make it more than two steps before he nearly walked right into Rom, who let out a high-pitched Ferengi shriek and dropped his tools, stumbling backwards and nearly falling on his rear end.</p><p> </p><p>“Y-you just about scared my lobes right off!” the Ferengi panted. “Chief O’Brien told me nobody was here!” </p><p> </p><p>Julian’s eyes went wide. “Chief O’Brien…? Rom, where are we?” he asked urgently.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, where d’ya think?” Rom said, bending down to pick up his tools. “On the <em>Defiant. </em>Although, uh, I dunno what you’re doing here. Somebody said Odo had you in a holding cell for punching Garak.” He looked at Julian suspiciously. “Are you trying to escape?”</p><p> </p><p>Julian couldn’t help it—he laughed helplessly, feeling a dizzying wave of relief, while Garak looked on in amusement. “I suppose I’ve got some explaining to do, don’t I?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Return</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A week had passed since Julian’s narrow escape from the mirror universe. He had completed his debrief, turned in his report, and taken several (mandated) days off to recover from a moderate concussion. He could admit that the experience had shaken him. But he was ready for things to return to normal, ready to put what he’d seen and done behind him. Frankly, he was tired of the concerned or pitying looks he got from his fellow officers when they thought he wasn’t looking. He knew they were coming from a place of good intentions, but it was frustrating to no end.</p><p> </p><p>Kira in particular looked like she’d wanted to say something a couple of times, but the two of them had never been close, so she hadn’t yet said anything to him outside of their usual businesslike exchanges. She knew what had happened; she’d been at his debrief. The whole senior staff had been there—plus Garak. But Julian had made it clear he wasn’t keen on talking about it at length, though he dutifully recounted the experience and answered Captain Sisko’s questions. </p><p> </p><p>Apparently his doppelganger had caused some trouble on the station, but he had disappeared in the same instant that Julian and Garak reappeared on the <em>Defiant. </em>To the best of anyone’s knowledge, the temporospatial anomaly had done the same thing it did the first time: swapping the two Julian Bashirs, this time back to their proper places. </p><p> </p><p>Now, Julian was hoping that things could get on as normal again. </p><p> </p><p>Today, he was having lunch with Garak. It was, after all, their scheduled day for it. Julian had thought about canceling, given that his reread of <em>The Picture of Dorian Gray </em>felt like a lifetime ago at this point. But it seemed impolite to avoid Garak any longer, and he had a feeling that neither of their minds would be on literature today.</p><p> </p><p>Julian got up from his office chair and checked his reflection in the glass of a darkened computer screen one last time. It was five minutes to 1300 hours, their regularly scheduled meeting time, since Julian usually took a late lunch break to catch up on paperwork while the nurses were out. </p><p> </p><p>He took a deep breath and headed for the Replimat. </p><p> </p><p>Garak was already waiting at their usual table when Julian sat down with his tray of replicated French onion soup and Tarkalean tea. There was something to be said for Cardassian punctuality.</p><p> </p><p>“Good afternoon, Doctor,” Garak greeted him pleasantly. He didn’t seem to have touched his plate of… well, whatever it was. “Busy day in the infirmary, I take it?”</p><p> </p><p>Julian didn’t have the heart to tell him that he’d caught up on all his paperwork by 1200 hours and could have easily gone on lunch at the same time as the nurses, or that he’d spent the last hour anxiously reorganizing the data rods in his office as he fretted about what to say at this very meeting. </p><p> </p><p>“You could say that,” was what Julian said after a moment, attempting a smile. “How are you doing, Garak? Business is good, I trust?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, yes, of course,” Garak said amiably. “Doctor, you would not believe the number of orders that just came in for Vulcan matrimonial gowns.” He leaned in closer, eyes darting left and right like it was a secret. “I do believe Ensign T’Lak is getting married.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s wonderful,” Julian said. He paused, trying to rein in his wandering thoughts. “How do you know it’s T’Lak?”</p><p> </p><p>Garak chuckled. “Oh, my dear Doctor, it is quite obvious if you know what to look for. Why, she was practically smiling when I saw her last! Smiling, can you believe it? A Vulcan!”</p><p> </p><p>Julian blinked. “I don’t see how her smiling means she’s getting married.”</p><p> </p><p>Garak looked at him slyly. “Do you remember that Vulcan philosophy student who came to the station perhaps a month ago? L’Sana, I think it was. With the, ah, hair?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure,” Julian said after a moment, still bewildered.</p><p> </p><p>“And so when T’Lak came to my shop to place an order for a Vulcan matrimonial gown, L’Sana’s scent was on her like perfume,” Garak said with his usual dramatic flair. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m afraid I still don’t understand,” Julian said with an awkward, breathy laugh. “You think they’re getting married because T’Lak <em>smelled </em>like her? How did you even know it was L’Sana’s scent? You met her maybe once.”</p><p> </p><p>“Perhaps you didn’t know, Doctor, but Cardassians have a very keen sense of smell,” Garak responded. He tapped his ornately scaled nose. “And we never forget a scent.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian blinked, unsure of what to say next. Somehow he couldn’t muster his usual enthusiasm. “That’s… fascinating,” he tried. </p><p> </p><p>Seeing that this wasn’t working, Garak let the matter drop and instead switched topics. “So, Doctor, what inspired you to choose <em>The Picture of Dorian Gray? </em>I must admit, I found it a bit far-fetched.” Unsurprising. Cardassians were not known for their love of the fantastical or supernatural.</p><p> </p><p>Julian swallowed, finding his mind suddenly blank as he tried to remember the excuse he’d generated for this very question, his reason for choosing a novel wherein a man was infatuated with an amoral stranger. “I, ah… W-well, it was the only novel ever written by a famous Earth poet, Oscar Wilde,” he explained. “And as such, it’s something of an anomaly in the literary world. It, er, wasn’t well-received at the time but is considered a classic now.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian’s heart was beating so hard, he realized he hadn’t heard a word Garak said in response. </p><p> </p><p>Garak must have noticed. “Doctor, is something the matter?” he asked. “You’ve not even touched your food.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian put his hands in his lap, shifting in his chair. He sighed, then looked up at his friend. “…Garak, did I really hit you?”</p><p> </p><p>Garak blinked, briefly surprised at the sudden change of subject. “Yes, as I remember it, you did,” he said, one hand coming up to touch his jaw briefly. “Though, of course, it <em>was </em>the mirror universe version of you. Very convincing likeness, I might add.”</p><p> </p><p>“And is that all?” Julian pressed. He’d not heard the whole story from anyone who’d actually been present, and he didn't have the guts to ask Odo for the incident report.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, there were some rather harsh words included,” Garak said mildly. “Something along the lines of, ‘don’t touch me, filthy spoonhead.’ But understandable nonetheless, given the context of the mirror universe from which he came.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian’s face fell. “Oh, Garak. I’m so sorry,” he said, wanting to reach out and touch Garak’s arm but stopping himself at the last second. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s quite alright, Doctor,” Garak said breezily, waving it off. “Trust me when I say I’ve had far worse.” He gave a teasing smile. “I must say, though, your appearance is deceiving, with regards to your strength.”</p><p> </p><p>But Julian wasn’t ready to let it go so easily. “Garak, I want you to know that I would never do or say something like that,” he said seriously. “Not this version of me. You’re my friend, and I care about you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I completely believe you, Doctor,” Garak said easily. “Besides, I do believe it was for the best. There are more than a few Bajorans on this station who were happy to see me put in my place.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian’s gaze darkened. “That’s not funny.”</p><p> </p><p>Garak’s orbital ridges went up in surprise. “My dear Doctor, are you certain there’s nothing wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>Julian sat back in his chair, agitated. Of course there was something wrong! <em>Everything </em>felt wrong since his return from the mirror universe. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, about what he’d seen and the looks in his people’s eyes and the way Dukat’s hands had felt on him, how much he missed that touch—things he was desperately trying to forget. </p><p> </p><p>He wondered where they were now. Miles. Jadzia. Dukat. The other Bashir. Were they back at Empok Nor? Out raiding other Alliance outposts with the <em>Defiant</em>?</p><p> </p><p>“Doctor,” Garak’s voice broke through his stormy thoughts, almost imperceptibly gentler than usual. “If you would like to postpone our usual meetings until further notice, I would of course understand. Free time for reading must be hard to come by for someone with your busy schedule.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian sighed. “No, that’s not—that’s not it,” he said, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, shoulders slumping. “I just… I don’t think this is a conversation for the Replimat.”</p><p> </p><p>“In that case, would you care to go for a walk?”</p><p> </p><p>Julian looked up, a bit surprised. “I think I’d like that,” he admitted. </p><p> </p><p>They dumped their plates in the reclamator without any fuss. Neither of them had done more than pick at their food in the time they’d been sitting. </p><p> </p><p>Together, they wandered away from the Replimat and rather aimlessly down the Promenade. It was starting to clear out a bit; the midday service at the Bajoran temple was due to start soon. </p><p> </p><p>“Forgive me for jumping to conclusions, but you seem distressed,” Garak observed. </p><p> </p><p>“I suppose I’ve had a lot on my mind,” Julian muttered. He sighed. The last thing he wanted was to drag out the memories he had been trying to shove to the back of his mind for a week, but it seemed like they just weren’t going away. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve just been thinking about what happened. In the other universe,” he admitted finally. </p><p> </p><p>“And what did happen?” Garak inquired, carefully casual.</p><p> </p><p>“You heard me tell the story during my debrief,” Julian said, a bit testily. “You already know.”</p><p> </p><p>Garak raised one ridged brow. “Doctor, you have never been a very good liar,” he said. “Take it from someone who has been lying for years. I think there’s something you haven’t told me. That you haven’t told anyone.”</p><p> </p><p>“And is it any of your business even if there is?” Julian snapped, more harshly than he intended.</p><p> </p><p>But Garak was unfazed. “I think it is. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so cagey about it.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian swallowed. “Why did you come to rescue me?”</p><p> </p><p>“I think you and I both know that question takes us nowhere,” Garak chided. “It was a given that your Starfleet fellows would implement a rescue, and given the circumstances, I happened to be the one best suited for the job.” </p><p> </p><p>“And that’s it?” Julian pushed. “There’s no other reason?” </p><p> </p><p>Garak seemed bemused, blue eyes wide in that seemingly innocent, mask-like way. “Doctor, I’m really not sure what you’re looking for. What other reason would there be?”</p><p> </p><p>Julian avoided his gaze, feeling his heart sink. “Nothing. You’re right.” Abruptly, he turned away from Garak and started walking in the other direction, suddenly not feeling much for conversation at the moment.</p><p> </p><p>“Doctor!” Garak protested, trailing after him upon realizing he’d upset Julian, though it was clear he had no idea how or why. “Please, why don’t we try this again? We can talk about it over tea, in my quarters.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian stopped, sighing, though he refused to look anywhere but straight ahead. “Garak, I don’t much feel like talking anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>“Just tea, then. Humor me, Doctor.” </p><p> </p><p>There was a long pause, and Julian sighed again. “Alright.”</p><p> </p><p>It was quite warm in Garak’s quarters, and Julian was tempted to take his uniform jacket off, but he soon banished the thought. He didn’t want to get too comfortable. </p><p> </p><p>Garak replicated two cups of steaming red leaf tea, handing one to Julian and then sitting at a polite distance on the other end of the couch. He kept his word and did not initiate conversation, seemingly content to sip at his tea and wait.</p><p> </p><p>Julian stared into the cup in his hands. The scent that rose from it was familiar and comforting, bringing back memories of better days when he had sat in the same place and felt so at home, but now it did nothing to assuage the knot of mixed emotions in his chest. </p><p> </p><p>“You were very… different in the other universe.” Julian spoke finally, even though he had told himself he was done talking about it.</p><p> </p><p>“I can imagine so,” Garak said simply. He took a sip of his tea.</p><p> </p><p>“I met people I knew from this world,” Julian continued after a moment, still staring into the red depths of his tea. “The first time it happened, I… well, I met the Intendant, and I met you, but only for a moment. The rest of the time I was down in ore processing, surrounded by all these people I’d never met before.” He paused, swallowing. “This time, though… it was like seeing ghosts. They were the people I knew, but at the same time they weren’t.”</p><p> </p><p>Garak merely looked at him over the rim of his teacup, waiting patiently for Julian to continue. </p><p> </p><p>Julian let out a long breath, running a shaky hand through his hair. “At first I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know what to do or what to say. The rebels, they—we—were hiding out on Empok Nor, letting the Alliance think it was still abandoned.” He smiled a little. “I thought that maybe some things would be familiar. They weren’t, mostly.”</p><p> </p><p>He shifted uncomfortably, then glanced at Garak. “I thought I was going to die there, Garak. They had no way to send me back—Miles’ gadgets were destroyed, and the transporters were dodgy at best.”</p><p> </p><p>Garak inclined his head. “I can’t fault you for thinking that way, Doctor. I might have done the same thing myself.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian felt frustration rise up within him, unbidden. “I don’t think you would have,” he said wryly. Garak was incredibly capable in nearly any situation; he wouldn’t have just panicked and given up. “All I did was patch up a few Terrans, have some awkward conversations, then ended up having drinks with Dukat.” That part Julian had left out of his official report.</p><p> </p><p>Garak made a most undignified-sounding snort into his tea, then stifled a cough. “You must have truly been hard up for company,” he managed at last.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s what I thought too, at first,” Julian said, glancing up at Garak. “But it’s not what you think.” He went back to staring at his tea. “He was different. Everyone was different.”</p><p> </p><p>“I believe you, Doctor. Now, what is it that you feel so guilty about?”</p><p> </p><p>Julian sat up straight, shoulders stiff as he looked at Garak incredulously. “Who says I feel guilty?”</p><p> </p><p>“Please, Doctor. I can practically smell it on you,” Garak said, setting down his teacup. “I can imagine the mirror universe is a rather unpleasant place, but you did what you had to do, and—”</p><p> </p><p>“I slept with Dukat!” Julian blurted out, louder than he’d intended, and was suddenly very grateful they weren’t in public. </p><p> </p><p>Garak blinked, taken aback. “Doctor, I don’t see why you would think this has any bearing on my opinion of you. Unless—” His whole demeanor shifted as he realized something, eyes hard and cold. “Did that <em>vile </em>son of a—”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Julian said immediately, cutting Garak off and looking him in the eyes. “He didn’t force me. We were drunk, but I wanted it.”</p><p> </p><p>Garak seemed to settle down, but his eyes were intense, sharp. “And yet you feel guilty. Why?”</p><p> </p><p>Julian looked away. <em>Because part of me wished it were you, </em>he wanted to say. <em>Because I liked it so much. Because I thought I’d never get a chance to be with you and he looked at me like you did. </em></p><p> </p><p>“I felt like I was… betraying you, somehow,” Julian said instead, and his voice sounded pathetic even to his own ears. He looked up, miserable. “I know that Dukat is the reason you’re exiled here, and the reason you can never go back home, and I feel awful about it because I care about you!”</p><p> </p><p>To his utter surprise, Garak laughed. </p><p> </p><p>Julian goggled at him. “I don’t see how this is funny.”</p><p> </p><p>“My dear doctor,” Garak said in that fond way that made Julian ache inside. “There are many things you don’t know about me. I do appreciate your concern, but the reasons I was exiled from Cardassia have nothing to do with Dukat and everything to do with me.” </p><p> </p><p>“Now <em>that</em>,” Julian protested, “is patently untrue. I know he was involved in it somehow!”</p><p> </p><p>“That is beside the point, Doctor,” Garak said, easily brushing it aside. “You feel guilty over having intimate relations with Dukat. But I can hardly fault you for it.” He smiled mysteriously. “Who’s to say I haven’t done the same in this universe?”</p><p> </p><p>Julian truly hadn’t the faintest idea whether Garak was lying or not. “You’re joking,” he said flatly.</p><p> </p><p>“Not at all. We ended on a rather, ah, unpleasant note, unfortunately,” Garak mused.</p><p> </p><p>“Would that have something to do with, say, the torture and possible execution of his father?” Julian asked with crossed arms.</p><p> </p><p>For the briefest of moments, Garak was legitimately caught by surprise. Then, he smiled, practically beaming with pride. “There may be hope for you yet, Doctor.”</p><p>  </p><p>Julian gave a faint smile. He knew that he could end it here. He could let it go, say he had appointments to get to in the infirmary, and that would be that. Just another conversation between friends.</p><p> </p><p>But he didn’t. </p><p> </p><p>Instead, he set his teacup aside and pressed his palm to Garak’s, giving his hand a deliberate squeeze. “I should hope so,” he said softly.</p><p> </p><p>Garak was taken aback, wide-eyed, and for a moment Julian thought he was going to run off, from the way his muscles tensed up. He watched the way Garak’s neck ridges darkened several shades, flushing deep blue nearly up to his aural ridges, and made a mental note to add “embarrassment” to the list of emotions communicated by Cardassian neck ridges.</p><p> </p><p>“Doctor, I don’t believe you understand the… cultural differences in such a gesture between our peoples,” Garak managed at last. </p><p> </p><p>“I do,” Julian said, holding his gaze. It was something that had shown up in many a Cardassian novel he’d read, a gesture of both loyalty and intimacy.</p><p> </p><p>Garak huffed out a laugh. “Doctor, I don’t know what to say.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian felt his stomach drop, and the beginnings of humiliation burned underneath his skin. Had he misjudged Garak’s interest in him? Let his own feelings blind him to the truth?</p><p> </p><p>He pulled his hand back. “Garak, I’m so—” </p><p> </p><p>He started to apologize, only to suddenly cut himself off when he felt Garak’s cool, scaled palm cup his cheek, and Garak kissed his lips ever so carefully, chaste and gentle, like a question.</p><p> </p><p>Julian just sat there for a moment, dazed, as Garak pulled back.</p><p> </p><p>“I believe that is the human way of responding to such a confession, is it not?” </p><p> </p><p>Julian realized he was still trembling with nerves, but all he could think of was how much he wanted to do it again. “That’s one way.”</p><p> </p><p>They sat there for a moment in silence, the air between them practically electrically charged. Garak drew back, clearing his throat, as close to embarrassed as Julian had ever seen him. </p><p> </p><p>Feeling awkward, Julian wanted to say a thousand things but found he hadn’t the words for any of them. “I… Would you like to talk about this over dinner?” he asked, before he could second-guess himself. “I-I want us to have time to think this over and I certainly don’t want to rush you or—”</p><p> </p><p>“I accept, Doctor,” Garak said with one of his polite little smiles. “Though, if I may make a small suggestion?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course,” Julian said too quickly, immediately mentally kicking himself for his social ineptitude. He hoped vainly that Garak, being an alien, wouldn’t pick up on it. (Really, he knew there was no chance of that. Garak was far too observant.)</p><p> </p><p>“Perhaps we could meet in the holosuite. I happen to have a program that would give us some… what’s the word? Atmosphere?”</p><p> </p><p>“That sounds perfect,” Julian said, trying not to sound breathless, but he was feeling like there was no air in his lungs. “I, uh, my shift ends at 2100 tonight, so is 2200 alright for you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Absolutely, Doctor.” Garak patted Julian’s arm fondly, and the touch felt nearly electric. </p><p> </p><p>Julian was sure his cheeks were scarlet. Flustered, he glanced at the chronometer on the wall. “Oh! I should, um, be getting back to the infirmary,” he said as he stood up, quickly smoothing his uniform jacket. His cup of tea sat untouched on the coffee table. “I’ll see you at 2200 hours, then?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m looking forward to it. I shall see you in Holosuite 4, my dear Doctor.” Garak inclined his head politely. </p><p> </p><p>Feeling a flutter in his chest at those words, Julian was amazed that he made it out of Garak’s quarters without tripping over his own feet. </p><p> </p><p>He had a date. </p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Was this a date? </p><p> </p><p>Well, he supposed he was going to find out. </p><p> </p><p>Stars, what was he supposed to wear? Should he go in uniform? Something more casual?</p><p> </p><p>These were the questions that circled endlessly in Julian’s mind as the day went on, and by the end of his shift the day seemed like a blur. He felt both too tired to focus and too keyed up to relax as he made his way to his quarters to change. A glance at the chronometer told him he still had nearly 45 minutes before he was supposed to meet Garak. Enough time to jump into the sonic shower and make himself look presentable before he had to head for the promenade. </p><p> </p><p>Julian debated asking Jadzia for advice, but in the end he decided to keep this whole thing under wraps until he had a better understanding of it all himself. He knew that asking his friends would lead to some awkward questions, ones he wasn’t quite prepared to deal with just yet. Of course he’d have to face them eventually, but now was not an ideal time for Jadzia to grill him about his relationship potential or Miles to express his inevitable shock and horror. </p><p> </p><p>Ultimately he decided on a more casual outfit, one of the few he’d packed when he left Earth. He wasn’t really sure how to dress since he wasn’t sure what Garak had planned for the holosuite, but his choice of navy trousers and a black long-sleeve (slightly too loose since his time at the Academy) tucked into said trousers, paired with his usual black service boots, seemed a safe bet. </p><p> </p><p>Standing at the door to Holosuite 4, Julian took a deep breath and let it out. Trying to ignore the anxiety that was nearly enough to make him lightheaded, he entered the access code Quark had given him at the bar and watched the door slide open. </p><p> </p><p>Once inside, Julian could only stare in awe for a few moments. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but this was entirely something else. The place was like a dream, something both fantastical and harsh in its alien beauty. </p><p> </p><p>It was an expanse of arid red grasslands to one side, as far as the eye could see, and to the other side the landscape slowly turned to bare ground, at the wet edges of which the shores of a lake gently lapped. Twin suns burned low in the sky, one burnished yellow and the other a deep red as they sank towards the dark lake. The air was heavy with heat and humidity, though a hot, dry wind blew from the direction of the grassland, making the grasses sway with its motion. The surface of the lake rippled with the wind, sluggish and dark as though it too was preparing to sleep along with the suns. </p><p> </p><p>Julian took a couple steps towards the lake, grasses swishing around his knees. “Garak?” he called out, uncertain. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m glad to see that you made it, Doctor,” said Garak amiably. He had been so still as to be camouflaged almost perfectly where he sat on a wide, smooth rock face near the edge of the lake. </p><p> </p><p>Julian blinked, almost startled. He made his way over to the flat rock face that stretched out near the edge of the lake, worn smooth by wind and rain and sun. He took a seat next to Garak, crossing his legs in front of him.</p><p> </p><p>“What is this place?” he asked after a moment. </p><p> </p><p>The wind was warm and languid, almost like a caress, and Garak looked more at ease than Julian had ever seen him. </p><p> </p><p>“Cardassia Prime.” Garak’s eyes were almost misty, his gaze cast out across the lake. “Sunset over the grasslands, perhaps an hour away by skimmer from the capital city. This is where my father first taught me to master a riding hound, the summer of my fifth name-day.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s beautiful,” Julian said honestly, looking from the grasslands and then across the water, its rippling surface burning red-gold with the light of the two suns. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” </p><p> </p><p>“That’s kind of you to say, Doctor. I know it must seem inhospitable to a human,” Garak said conversationally. He hadn’t even looked at Julian this whole time, his gaze fixed on the horizon. </p><p> </p><p>Julian gave a little smile. “Not at all. You should see the place I was born,” he said, keeping his tone light. “Desert as far as the eye can see. Though, I will say, it’s not so humid there.” His memories of Cairo were distant; he hadn’t been back since he was a child, but the vague memories of the bright hot streets and walking alongside his mother’s parents in the market were good ones. </p><p> </p><p>A pause. “How long have you been away?” Julian asked finally. He hoped it wasn’t too intrusive a question to ask. </p><p> </p><p>“Longer than I care to admit,” Garak said with a wry smile. “I use this program when I find that I can’t quite remember the hue of the lake at sundown. Just so I don’t forget.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a beat of silence between them, with only the soft sounds of the rippling water to fill it. “I had wanted to show it to you for some time,” Garak continued, and his blue eyes settled on Julian for the first time that night. “I suppose our schedules never quite lined up before now.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian smiled. “I missed you, too,” he said, only partly teasing. </p><p> </p><p>Garak’s expression was solemn, his eyes unreadable, a mirror-mask of emotion in which Julian thought that perhaps he could see himself reflected. “There was a time when I thought I might have lost you forever, Doctor,” he said in a tone that was carefully measured, but Julian caught the faintest hint of a tremor there. </p><p> </p><p>Julian swallowed. “I know.” He had thought the same thing upon realizing he was trapped in the mirror universe, in a time that seemed like both yesterday and forever ago. “I… I thought I would never get the chance to talk to you like this again.” He reached out to clasp Garak’s cool, scaly hand, feeling smooth palms and ridged knuckles. “To tell you how much… how much I care about you.”</p><p> </p><p>He wondered if Garak could hear his pulse pounding. It certainly seemed terribly loud in his own ears.</p><p> </p><p>Garak’s expression remained cool, mask-like, though they were sitting close enough that Julian could discern the rapid blinking of his inner eyelids. “That,” he said softly, “is a dangerous sentiment to express on Cardassia.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then it’s a good thing we’re not on Cardassia,” Julian said, despite the pounding of his heart. When Garak’s hand tightened around his, ever so gently, Julian could feel the rasp of claws that hadn’t been filed recently, and he felt a lurch of something that felt like homesickness in his chest. </p><p> </p><p>“You are aware,” Garak continued carefully, “that even here, to be associated with me can be… shall we say, hazardous to one’s health?”</p><p> </p><p>“Garak, I don’t care what it is you’ve done in the past or who has some sort of grudge against you. I’ll tell you that right now,” Julian said, for once not bothering to play along with Garak’s game of subtle double entendres. “And I don’t need protecting. Not from anyone else, and not from myself, either. I spent all this time thinking that I was never going to see you again. I know what I want.”</p><p> </p><p>“Doctor…” Garak sounded almost pained. “You are an intelligent man. You must know that the risk incurred—”</p><p> </p><p>“That risk is mine to take,” Julian interrupted sharply. His time in the mirror universe had given him a new perspective on taking chances, he supposed. “And I’ve made my peace with that. The question is, are you willing to do the same?”</p><p> </p><p>Garak just looked at him for a moment, at a loss. “Doctor, I…” He let out a soft, shaky breath, bowing his head as though in shame, even as a grim smile twisted his expression. </p><p> </p><p>Julian’s brows furrowed in a frown. “Garak, what’s wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>Garak refused to meet his eyes. “Doctor, when I realized that you were… gone, I also realized that everything of any importance to me, in my miserable exile on this station, had gone with you.” His voice was quiet, tremulous, unbalanced in a way Julian had never heard before. “My reasons were selfish when I asked to be the one to retrieve you. The idea of facing life here without you in it was more than I could bear. And I… I cannot excuse further selfishness on my part by asking you for this.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian felt something in his heart twist with an aching, longing pain. He could appreciate how difficult it must be for Garak to admit this, but at the same time he found it terribly, twistedly sad that Garak had been raised to view caring for someone else as a selfish act. And now he believed that made him unworthy of Julian’s affections?</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Garak…” Julian said softly. He tilted Garak’s head up with a gentle hand, saw the aborted shudder that passed through him at the touch. “If that’s true, then I am the most selfish man who ever lived. I spent so much time in that other universe thinking about all the things I wished I would have said to you before it happened. Things I thought I’d never get the chance to say. Where I come from, Garak, that’s not selfishness, that’s love.” He smiled. “Now, would you consider taking a chance with me?”</p><p> </p><p>Julian knew that Cardassians did not like uncertainty. Humans, though? They lived for it.</p><p> </p><p>The look in Garak’s eyes was somewhere between longing and grief. “For you, my dear Doctor? Anything.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian was nearly in a daze of emotions, almost unsure he had heard right until he felt the gentle caress of Garak’s palm against his cheek. That polite, mysterious little smile on Garak’s face—the one Julian had become enamored with—was tinged with a fondness he’d never noticed before. </p><p> </p><p>They were so close now that their foreheads were nearly touching. </p><p> </p><p>Julian finally closed the distance between them, kissing Garak like he’d dreamed of doing almost since he came to the station. Garak’s mouth was warm and eager, his tongue slightly rough like Dukat’s had been. Julian had worried that this would be more difficult without the aid of kanar, but it wasn’t so. </p><p> </p><p>Julian was breathless in the very best way when they parted. He was nearly in Garak’s lap at this point, and all he could think about was how he wanted to be closer, wanted to map every ridge and scale of Garak’s body with his hands, wanted to commit this moment to memory with every sense he possessed. </p><p> </p><p>When Garak’s strong hands pulled him closer with an ease that was absolutely thrilling, the rush of euphoria Julian felt was nearly dizzying. Garak was broad and solid, with a strength that Julian likely couldn’t hope to match, but he had a few tricks of his own. </p><p> </p><p>Julian’s hands slid from Garak’s shoulders up to his neck ridges, firmly stroking the broad scales, and felt Garak’s breath stutter in his chest. </p><p> </p><p>“My dear Doctor,” Garak breathed, “you <em>are </em>quite forward.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian smiled and kissed Garak’s orbital ridge, his arms draped lazily around Garak’s neck. “I think you can call me Julian now.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then perhaps,” Garak said as he nuzzled Julian’s smooth, ridgeless neck, “you could do me the honor of calling me Elim.”</p><p> </p><p>“Elim,” Julian whispered, just to try it, to feel the way it bloomed inside him like a flower opening to the sun, like the brilliance of a star against the void of space. </p><p> </p><p>Garak made a low rumbling sound in his chest and throat, like a deep purr, while he was nosing happily at Julian’s neck. It was the same sound Dukat had made when they slept together, with perhaps a slightly different timbre, if Julian’s enhanced senses were to be believed. </p><p> </p><p>“What is that?” Julian asked aloud, curious. </p><p> </p><p>Garak pulled back to look at him, surprised. “What is what, exactly?”</p><p> </p><p>“That sound you made,” Julian insisted. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh. That.” There was a faint dusting of blue visible in the spoon-shaped protrusion on Garak’s forehead. “It’s merely an… expression of contentment.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind.”</p><p> </p><p>“Julian, my dear, would you like to go for a swim?” Garak asked with his usual nonchalance, his hand resting on the small of Julian’s back. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you trying to get me naked?” Julian teased. </p><p> </p><p>Garak’s eyes gleamed in that mischievous way that Julian was starting to love. “Certainly not, although I’d hate for your clothes to be soaking wet when we have to leave. But I must tell you that sunset is one of the ideal times to go for a swim on Cardassia. And I’ve specifically programmed the water temperature here to be ideal.”</p><p> </p><p>Julian smiled, closing his eyes against the ripples of red-gold light on the water, then kissed one of Garak’s forehead ridges. “How could I say no to that?”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The end!!</p><p>Thank you so much to everyone who read and commented. I hope you enjoyed the story! Please let me know what you think in the comments &lt;3</p>
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